


then something broke in me and I wanted to go home

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Age Play Caregiver Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Age Play Caregiver Lee Minho | Lee Know, Age Play Little Bang Chan, Age Play Little Seo Changbin, Age Regression/De-Aging, Diapers, Littles Are Known, Non-Linear Narrative, Non-Sexual Age Play, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What do you mean you kidnapped a little?” hisses Minho, setting his coffee cup down on the table just forcefully enough to set Felix on edge.“It’s not - kidnapping,” replies Felix, setting his own cup down as he turns to meet Minho’s gaze - and immediately wishes he hadn’t. “You took my words out of context. He can’t go home and I should maybe call LCPS. Besides, I said I’m contemplating it.”xxxAn age-regression fic in which Chan lies about having a caregiver and everything is bad until it isn't anymore.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 178
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you mean you kidnapped a little?” hisses Minho, setting his coffee cup down on the table just forcefully enough to set Felix on edge. The older glances furtively around his cozy, warmly lit apartment; as if expecting men with dozens of cameras to pop out of the kitchen cabinets. If he was thinking clearly, barging into Minho and Jisung’s shared apartment to talk to the older man was not the best plan, especially considering the dark circles gracing Minho’s face, his greasy hair and rumpled navy scrubs. Getting off a 12 hours shift with no time to shower due to Felix’s ambush was wearing on Minho’s thin, sleep-deprived patience. Felix sips his own drink quietly, eyes fixed on the well-worn kitchen table to avoid the other’s piercing gaze. The tense silence is broken only by the quiet feedback of the baby monitor set up on the table, listening quietly for any sign of life from the bedroom.

“It’s not - _kidnapping_ ,” replies Felix, setting his own cup down as he turns to meet Minho’s gaze - and immediately wishes he hadn’t. “You took my words out of context. He can’t go home and I should maybe call LCPS. Besides, I said I’m _contemplating_ it.” 

“That is not what you said to me the first time, Felix,” mutters Minho into his cup, “I distinctly remember you all but kicking down my door and announcing that you aren’t going to take him back home. How does that not qualify as abduction? Maybe I should call LCPS on you, you’ve clearly lost it.”

“No, no, Minho-hyung, please don’t call LCPS. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. We’ve talked about his living situation before, you’re the one who advised it sounded like neglect. I just want him to be safe and healthy - if I can help get him out of a toxic living situation, I want to do that!”

As much as he protests, Minho is probably right. In hindsight, Felix should have called LCPS - Little Custody and Protection Services - before doing anything rash. But LCPS is notoriously understaffed and underfunded, if he calls and there is a delay or a lack of concern due to persistent anti-little prejudices it could put his baby at even greater risk. Even the thought alone of risking Chan’s safety if his neglectful, perhaps downright abusive, caregiver finds out weighs heavily in Felix’s stomach. The devil on his shoulder croons that his actions are justified, that Chan’s safety is Felix’s highest priority and if it means that Felix gets to take care of him for the foreseeable future then that is just an added benefit. The angel on the other nods in agreement. 

Felix has long since made up his mind.

“You haven’t seen his nappies, Minho,” replies Felix, “He’s left in them for hours - nearly days - his rash is barely better and I have been _diligent_ about that. He still drives even after the doctor has confirmed his regression is at the A1 level. That’s _young_ . He isn’t supposed to have a license in the first place - not to mention he forces himself out of his headspace all the time, signing himself out of daycare and wandering around. I get calls at random times and locations because his caregiver isn’t around and Big Chan slipped in public. His caregiver hasn’t spent time with Chan, much less gotten him ready for the day, picked him up from daycare, or put him to bed in _months_ , from what I can tell. The groceries on the shelf are appalling and I just can’t bear to see him in that situation any longer.” 

His voice cracks as he bites back his sobs, drowning his tears with his long-cold coffee and gratefully taking Minho’s offered tissue to dab gingerly at his wet eyes. 

“You’re right,” Felix says quietly, “I shouldn’t have done it this way, but Hyung, what if something happens? Even if he’s just alone all night, a little shouldn’t have to go through that, _he_ shouldn’t have to deal with that. But I don’t know what to do. I just wanted to help.” 

He feels Minho’s arms around him before even registering that the other man has moved, learning weakly into the comforting embrace. Minho is polite enough to not comment on the amount of snot and obnoxious sniffling Felix is doing right now in a poor effort to stop the tears from flowing. The blanket being draped around his shoulders is a comfort, even if he’s shaking so hard it barely stays on. The older man’s embrace is grounding, bringing Felix down from his emotional rollercoaster as Minho coaxes him to the couch in the center of his living room. 

In terms of wear and tear, Jisung and Minho’s apartment has seen better days, especially since Changbin began living there in the guest room the majority of the time. There are toys strewn haphazardly all over the floor - a random xylophone here, a crumbling castle of foam blocks nestled in the corner, a well-loved teddy bear there - all signs of an active, happy little. Though, to be fair, from how often Felix and Chan have visited it is hard to tell where their chaos ends and Changbin’s mess begins. The markers scattered on the coffee table are capped with the wrong colors, falling out of their bucket, and flanked by a drawing pad filled with scribbles and lettering, but the owner is nowhere in sight. Changbin, for the first time in a while, felt well enough to attend class today, waving goodbye hours earlier, flanked by a fussing Jisung. Not that Felix blames Jisung’s stress and worry given how unpredictable Changbin’s regression has been as of late. The little in question usually waves his caregivers off, muttering that a C4 status is not nearly enough to warrant constant supervision. 

Changbin has a point; the classification system is rarely wrong, but Jisung also has valid reasons to be concerned.

The ABC classification system of age regression levels is the first thing drilled into impressionable youths in their health and physical wellness classes. It has since been retaught to Felix in-depth in his required caregiving elective course. So he’s practically an expert. To be fair, his knowledge of the ABC system is what caused him to be suspicious of Chan’s independence and caregiver’s level of attention in the first place. Chan registers at the A1 level whereas Changbin registers at C4, with the letter denoting frequency of regression and the number the age of headspace. A refers to, essentially, always. An A level regressor is in headspace the majority of the time, with deep regression lasting for long durations coupled with unpredictability of both regression and maturation. The rule of thumb is indefinitely, even if the A was meant to refer to habitual deep regression. So Chan regresses deeply, frequently, and is at most about 1 in headspace. B means basic, or base level, needing a handful of days here and there throughout the month; C is casually, needing at most a few days per month. Common C level littles can go months without regressing with relatively few issues. Regression is only unpredictable with A level littles, which is why Jisung and Minho are so concerned about Changbin. 

After their scare the previous week, Felix doesn’t blame the two caregivers for hovering. 

Changbin’s denial that anything is wrong in combination with Jisung and Minho’s hesitation to break the news of his frequent slips are a recipe for disaster - and that is saying something considering Felix’s current predicament. The couple hasn’t had the nerve to sit down and talk to Changbin about how his regression periods are lasting longer in duration and that he’s regressing younger. The days after coming out of headspace are a little foggy for Changbin, now, so they stretch the truth to the best of their ability. But he’s not dumb - perhaps willfully ignorant, in this instance. Confusing a date or two is normal, but to try and convince yourself you did not miss five consecutive days of class is another thing entirely.

Besides the classification system, for the last twenty years, has been near-infallible. If Changbin is a C4, he should be a C4 with little change. Then again, Felix’s struggles with keeping an eye on a wayward Chan are just as much evidence as Changbin’s age-sliding that the system is flawed. But it’s not a question of whether Chan wants to regress, it’s a question of whether he has the safety and support to do so. 

“I know, Lix, I know. Even if you are right, and I have never had a reason to doubt you, especially not what I have seen first hand, you’re a full-time third year undergraduate student, Felix,” says Minho gently, “You don’t have the resources or time to take care of Chan to the extent that he needs.”

“You don’t know that,” counters Felix weakly, “I could make it work.” 

It’s different for Minho and Jisung, the couple make ends meet to help Changbin to the best of their abilities given their own stressful schedules. They’ve been caring for him for almost two years now, but the times that they were needed are increasing with alarming frequency. Still their tenacity and dedication is admirable - which perhaps is why Changbin is so adamant that nothing is wrong. Minho works full time as a nurse, usually taking night shifts so he can be on call if Changbin is having a little day. Jisung, on the other hand, has considerable flexibility with his own course schedule and part-time work at a coffee shop that allows him to fill in the gaps, go to class now and then with Changbin. 

Changbin meanwhile writes lyrics and composes full scale songs that he sells when he’s not attending his final few lectures for his final year of undergrad. Given that his student ID and advisors all know his situation - as uncommon as it may be to see a little enrolled in university - he has accommodations to make his academics easier. As a little, he receives a few extra days off with no questions asked, but those extra days are running into negatives in amount which only adds to Changbin’s determination to go to class. 

“I feel like a burden,” he said as Jisung runs the clippers through his hair, brow set in concentration. “I can’t be trusted to stay on my own for long periods of time, I’ve practically moved in, I just-” 

That was all Felix had heard before ducking out of the door, shrugging on his coat to leave the private conversations to the trio. He left to pick Chan up from daycare, the subject allowing Minho a way to broach the subject to Changbin who, in turn, had a near meltdown.

It’s unconventional and not easy. But regardless of their struggles, Felix has always felt more than a little envious.

In comparison to the three that are all decided and working toward their goals. Felix is on a stalled train, a subway to nowhere. His ship floats aimlessly on the water until he dies. He’s utterly directionless and it’s eating him alive from the inside. He drifts through his classes, enjoying most of them, but fearing the commitment of a decision. He only wound up in this two part elective caregiving course because his exasperated academic counselor suggested it to fill his world, health, and society requirement - not to mention it is one of the few majors he has not tried out yet. He actually met Jisung in the first part, the theoretical portion, of the practicum course; the other was taking a few classes to figure out how to best support his friendship with Changbin. And slowly Felix became integrated in their circle. It’s certainly helpful to know Jisung who coincidentally is dating someone working in the medical field - but his social relationships aside - it does not exactly help fulfill his existential dread and fear of choosing the wrong thing. 

Still, he has to do right by Chan. Big or little, the other is filled with such a wondrous light he has to sit back in awe, wondering how he has the privilege to know such a beautiful soul. The other’s dimpled smiles are precious, hidden in his shirt or hands as he ducks his head, bashful as ever - it’s a rainbow after a month of storms. It is hard to watch the clouds come back, watch the other shy away from Felix and doubt his every move. Harder still to wonder who on Earth, in any universe, would ever leave this little so lonely and hurting?

Felix can be Chan’s support. He knows he will, no matter the cost.

* * *

Chan should start by clarifying that he never meant to take it this far. If he’s being honest, he didn’t even mean to lie in the first place. 

What started as a teensy-weensy little white lie to finish out secondary school has now evolved into an enormous ball and chain that weighs him down by the ankle every day. And yet, paradoxically, it also gives him the indescribable sense of freedom, of being able to live for himself and do what he wants without being defined by his classification for the first time in years. He can - and has - taken university classes, can go shopping on his own, and lives alone. 

The only caveat is that he didn’t mean to lie in the first place.

“Who is your primary caregiver?” asks the secretary, glancing at him boredly from her computer. Her large square glasses make her eyes look like an owl - if he squints, Chan thinks he can see his student profile in the reflection of the screen. Chan is tired, eyes blinking slowly and head jerking every so often from how late he had stayed up the night before staying in the twenty-four hour cafes for a few hours to keep pushing forward. He misses his bed. He misses his mom. 

“My caregiver?” asks Chan, blinking hard to try and push the fuzz out of his eyes. He’s not quite seventeen, newly homeless and newly classified as a little, and still struggling with the casual slang in everyday Korean. Not to mention his constant spacing out, nodding off to sleep, letting the haze in his mind grow warmer, closer to the surface prevents any coherent response or thought process to the secretary’s question. Caregiver? Well she said primary carer, so she probably meant physician, right? Sure. That works. His brain is spluttering on little to no sleep for the fourth day in a row, jumping to conclusions that don’t make sense. 

He’s received enough pitying looks, enough people talking down to him that even the thought of willingly walking into that situation is enough to make his skin crawl. He clings to the hope that she wasn’t talking about the caregiver-guardian that he lacks. Chan doesn’t think that he could make it through the conversation without crying if she asks about his mom or his living situation; his physician is the only answer he can say without choking on the lump in his throat. 

“Oh, um, Choi Kangdae.”

She nods once, typing up the rest of the report and hitting print before handing it over to Chan. Her movements are bored, cursory - even as she takes in Chan’s disheveled appearance, hair unkempt and greasy she makes little effort to investigate deeper into his home life. A part of her mind chimes in that it's the right thing to do, but her phone blaring about the skirmish that has broken out in class B2 dissolves the small thought from her mind. She won’t think about it again and it’s the key to Chan’s success. 

She guides Chan out into the hallway, the young man clutching the document tightly in his hands. He flops on a bench in the courtyard, reading over the document, blinking hard to push the blurriness out of his vision, fighting the haziness in his mind. Sitting backward, he mutters to himself, with a small pout, “This doesn’t say physician.” 

All littles have to report their caregiver and have their place of residence inspected or be subject to a matching system. With how deep and long his slips last, Chan truly intended to sign up as soon as he could for the matching system. Fated to be alone forever is the worst thing in the world to him. More importantly, he doesn’t want the authorities breaking down his door for his unintentional lie; he doesn’t want them thinking he’s a bad boy. Yet the countless horror stories that he has heard about the matching system give him pause. Endless streams of blog posts reflect in his eyes, accounts from other littles about the maltreatment, neglect, and abuse they received at the hands of caregivers who they were matched with against their will. As he goes to fill out the paperwork with shaking hands, their words make him tuck the file into the deepest recesses of his backpack. As the world blooms into lush greenery and back into the crisp, cold weather of autumn, it becomes easier and easier to rely on the lie of the elusive Choi Kangdae.

The lie cemented itself when, after two years, he finally scraped enough together money to rent an apartment. 

“You’re a little?” asks the man gruffly, giving Chan a quick cursory scan. It’s phrased like a question, but his tone leaves no room for argument. His gut is larger than Chan’s torso and although his eyebrows are set in a permanent scowl his eyes are vacant, distant. Gazing through Chan almost like the little isn’t there at all. “We don’t rent to littles without caregivers, especially A levels.”

“Oh, well, uh, my caregiver, could, um, call you. He’s abroad and couldn’t make the showing, but he’s real, I have a caregiver. What A level doesn’t, right?” laughs Chan weakly, hoping he doesn’t look as distressed as he thinks he does. He hastily pulls out the documentation from the school, handing it over. In his other pocket, the second phone for the fake caregiver grows ever heavier. “You can call my secondary school. They have his name and contact on file, too. They can confirm.” 

The landlord shrugs, perhaps caring more for the money than for the legitimacy of Chan’s claims, takes the number to the phone of Chan’s “caregiver” and school and leaves to go about his business. A few days later, Chan’s hand is shaking as he faxes the lease, sweating at the fake signature of his caregiver. 

He pushes open the door to the apartment slowly, holding his backpack of meagre items and his bedroll. The space is dimly lit with an undependable ceiling light and little else; the window faces East and grants him little light at the end of the day. The area is a little cramped with an odd layout that would barely fit a full sized bed. Not that it matters, Chan only has his backpack. He wanted a goshiwon but none would take a little, even if he had a caregiver - there simply isn’t enough space. But he was a big boy and he found this place all by himself. He slowly unpacks, pulling out his spare set of clothes, pajamas, hygiene products, laptop, nightlight, and his beloved teddy bear. The little presses his face into the soft fur, rubbing his cheek against the plush exterior repeatedly, ignoring how the fur is dampening from the tears escaping his eyes. Chan holds his only friend tight, curled up in his sleeping bag, facing the door to keep an eye out for anyone attempting to enter. 

The months, then years pass and his little space is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. He blinks back into awareness and finds himself an utter wreck, not knowing what day it is and nearly dead from dehydration. He begins preparing bottles in advance, but he knows that he won’t drink them cold and won’t know how to heat them up. Chan - face red with shame - buys nappies for when he is little but knows that he doesn’t know how to change himself if he’s little. No matter what he does it keeps mocking him that not only society determines that he needs a caregiver, but his own body seems to agree. 

Wandering the streets of Seoul, he sees a few (not many, littles are not entirely common nor do caregivers like to flaunt their littles for fear of their safety) little and caregiver pairs and sighs quietly. His eyes are wide, glistening slightly and full of longing. Chan forces himself to blink hard and look away, shutting his laptop with a hard click later that night as an ad for the matching service plays. Damn big data. He doesn’t need a caregiver.

So he says. At the very least, though, he contemplates, he needs interaction with other humans. Not necessarily caregivers or littles. 

He earns decent money from his freelance virtual translation services as well as the music program that he downloaded, selling a few compositions and lyrics here and there. The market for music, though, is tough and he is picky about his music - so it is slow going, to say the least. It has been enough to begin investing in some furniture at the very least. His first night in a bed he almost cried again as he held his bear tight to his chest. But there’s no interaction with any other individuals. 

Which, for a person who is well socialized and not deathly afraid of being caught in an obvious lie, this would not be an issue. But Chan’s little space makes conversation hard, when he’s on the verge he usually begins to go nonverbal and little Chan is nonverbal. He’s just too young to have more than baby-babble and maybe, maybe the occasional “dada” or “baba.” It is a pain - he has thoughts and opinions but no way of saying anything. At least, if he is little in public, little Chan has no way of spilling the truth - the baby is refreshingly honest. So big Chan struggles to talk to others without feeling guilty about his situation: other caregivers and littles are always enthusiastic to meet up again and perhaps meet his caregiver, so isolating himself seemed like the right thing to do. 

But he wants to talk to people. Eyes full of longing land for a moment too long on friends walking down the side of the street as he looks out of his window next to his desk. His social wellness meter has been in the negatives for months and the shadows whisper terrible, horrible things in his head. _No one will notice if you go missing, no one will miss you when you’re gone because no one misses you when you’re alive._

“Okay, okay, I give in. I give in,” whispers Chan, opening his laptop and typing into the search bar: _Little Daycares in Seoul._

* * *

“Oh, hi, Felix-ssi,” smiles Jeongin, as he wipes his hands off on his apron. He’s kneeling next to one of the littles seated at the octagonal table at the daycare center, wiping their face from the remnants of snack time. His apron is blue, this week, which matches his hair. The customary embroidered flowers adorn the pocket of the apron which has a spare pacifier clipped on it and a red lolly tucked into the pocket. Felix thinks he looks rather charming. 

“How was your day?” asks Jeongin politely as he wrestles a stray drool-covered marker out of another little’s fist while simultaneously attempting to wipe off all of the red streaks decorating their lips. If that particular little’s hair was green - he would look exactly like the Joker from Batman. “You’re here early today, I’m surprised.” 

“Yes, I got out of lab early and wanted to surprise Chan.”

Jeongin smiles again, bright and genuine, face scrunching up as he responds, “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that. He’s been asking about you, today. A little restless and fussy, and he refused to eat, but Jihyo and I gave him some gentle medicine for his stomach before his nap and it helped a little. He might be anxious about something, but I think he just missed you.”

Of all of the volunteers at the Yellow Wood daycare center, Jeongin is by far Felix’s favorite. And it is only partially because Jeongin gives Felix input into how Chan is taken care of during the day - as well as factoring in Chan’s opinions as well - Jihyo insists that Felix as a “nanny-for-hire” should not get as much say as Chan’s caregiver. Yes, Jeongin is by far Felix’s favorite. The younger man is cheerful and fun, but pragmatic and attentive toward the little under his care. He’s close to his graduation, now, and will begin training full time to work at Yellow Wood while he determines whether or not he wants to apply to university. 

Inwardly, selfishly, Felix hopes that he never leaves because he doesn’t know if he can trust Jihyo to watch Chan full-time. She’s diligent, wrapping up her applications for her preferred physician’s assistant programs; she just always defaults to the caregiver. Even if Felix, Jeongin, and Jihyo share long talks about the concerning amount of damage that Chan takes on, his independence, and terrible self-care, she still wants to abide by company policy. 

Felix can, begrudgingly, accept that. But it doesn’t mean he won’t pick favorites.

He follows Jeongin through the maze of tables, nearly tripping over a wayward toy or two that has not quite gotten picked up. The dark wood floor gives off an elegant feel that contrasts harshly with the pale yellow walls covered with letters, littles’ artwork, shapes and signs. The rugs, tucked in between book and toy shelves are colorful depicting roads for cars to traverse, blinding neon shapes and animals. The room radiates childlike joy and enthusiasm, broadcasting a warm feeling of safety and security. 

For many of the mentally-older littles, naptime is in the main room on their blankets and pillows. Yet for littles who happen to need as much sleep and are as young as Chan - prone to waking up, needing longer, deeper sleep - they are in the adjacent room. As Felix enters the smaller room, he can already see Chan curled up on his side under a mountain of blankets, face peaceful in sleep poking out from the top. The covers are drawn up to his chin, a pacifier nearly falling out of his mouth as he rests. 

The room is empty save for the trio, Chan is by far the youngest little consistently in residency at Yellow Wood. There are a few others that are B and C levels who are also enrolled, who Jeongin also tends to, but their visitations are much less frequent than Chan’s. Chan is at Yellow Wood - or should be - Monday through Thursday from 9:00 to 4:00 in the afternoon, except on alternating Tuesdays when Felix’s class doesn’t meet to dedicate time toward their practicum portion. The class does not meet to focus their efforts on spending time taking care of their littles and fulfilling their volunteer nanny hours.

The practicum portion of the caregiving course, although it is mandatory for all those who are in Felix’s class, is not an incredibly intensive project. The start sounds daunting with roughly fifty hours required on top of part-time jobs and school course loads. Yet beginning from the start of the semester, spending three hours per week is the recommended amount of time to fulfill the minimum number of hours required to pass the class. _More hours is fantastic_ , said his professor on the first day, _five, seven, even_ ten _hours a week is going above and beyond!_

Felix has surpassed that by a....considerable amount. 

He runs a gentle hand through Chan’s hair before moving down to his face to rouse him, slender fingers tracing softly over the other’s features as soft as a spring breeze. He sits on the cot, next to Chan and coos quietly, whispering soft nothings in an attempt to rouse the other. Chan fusses momentarily, refusing the offered pacifier as he attempts to burrow back into his blankets. Felix, once again, is selfish - seeing Chan slowly blink back into awareness is a gift and the other’s caregiver is missing out. His baby koala blinks ever so slowly before reaching his arms up and winding them around Felix’s neck, content to stay and cuddle for a moment.

“Hi, sweetheart,” grins Felix, “I missed you today, did you sleep well? Did you have a good day with Jeongin, Channie?” 

There’s not much body language to even give an inclination that Chan was listening or comprehending what Felix was talking about, but the college student is certain he felt a small nod. He squeezes tight before bracing himself, readjusting and distributing Chan’s weight in preparation to walk to the train station. Times like this he wishes that Choi Kangdae was benevolent enough to sign Felix and Chan the rights to the car so that he wouldn’t have to put an exhausted little through the roulette wheel of public transit. It’s early in the day, though, just around 3:30 so if he hustles it might not be that bad. 

“Right, we’d better be off,” says Felix, gratefully taking Chan’s coat from Jeongin. The little is balanced on his hip while he attempts to sign him out with his free hand, Jeongin attempting to put Chan’s raincoat on, but the little is having none of it. “Will you be in tomorrow when I come to pick him up?” 

Jeongin nods, “Yes, I should be. We’ve had a younger little withdraw from the program, by the way. I know you told me to keep an eye out for vacancies.” 

“You make Yellow Wood sound so _exclusive_ , you blue haired delinquent.” 

Jeongin rolls his eyes, replying, “You’re one to talk, you have a silver mullet. But if you wanted I could push forward the file of the little you recommended. He and/or his caregivers could come for a tour and interview, if they would be interested.”

Felix nods excitedly, “Yes, I - um - haven’t talked to them about it at length. Well - they haven’t come to an agreement as to whether it’s best for the little’s wellbeing to enroll in daycare while this rough patch lasts. I promised him I would go to the clinic with him soon - but I will definitely suggest it to them. Thank you for letting me know, Jeongin.” 

The younger smiles, “Of course, Felix, I’d rather have a full house of littles and caregivers like you and Chan, I can tell he really loves you.” 

* * *

“So,” says the older man cheerfully, walking around the facility with Chan trailing behind him, “We have three primary rooms for the different classes - aptly named Yellow, Blue, and Red.” 

The man laughs to himself, glancing behind himself to see Chan idling at the window sills, head cocked as he looks at the little plants pushing through the soil, stretching taller to meet the sun. The older littles, 5 to 6, were planting the last few weeks; each of their ceramic pots painted with colorful designs and names. The leaves were spotted with colored light from the sunlight filtering through the stained glass on the window, spots of purple, blue, yellow, red all dancing on the plants. 

He tucks his thumb into his mouth for a moment, drifting, lost in the moment. The tour guide - Kihyun? Jaebum? Jeonghan? Chan doesn’t remember - gently maneuvers Chan onto a beanbag chair in the corner of the Blue room that they were touring. The plush material of the chair nearly consumes him with how large it is, sinking down into it so that nothing touches the floor. His thumb in his mouth is nice, but he shouldn’t...he shouldn’t…

Chan yanks his thumb out of his mouth, jumping up from the beanbag with a cry suddenly enough to send the man spiraling backward. He wipes his slimy, wet thumb on his jeans, trying very hard not to start crying at the loss of comfort, mind confused enough to not remember where he is or what he’s doing here. The heat rising in his cheeks feels as warm as a roaring fire, dusting across the entirety of his face and kissing his ears; the warmth doesn’t help the pricking at his eyes. Face flushing further, Chan’s lower lip wobbles dangerously as he tries to regain control of himself and his surroundings. 

“S-sorry, sorry, didn’, din’, m,” he stammers hard, each word coming out more mottled than the least, tasting cement in his mouth. Managing even three comprehensible words was enough for Chan to feel that he needs to sleep for a lifetime, forcing himself to be verbal when the last thing he felt capable of is talking.

“Are you sure that you don’t want your caregiver here? We can do this another day.” asks the tour guide softly, placing a steadying hand on the other man’s shoulder. Chan shakes his head lightly, pushing away the offered stuffed animal, ignoring the pain welling in his lower lip as he bites down hard in an attempt to stay ground and _not_ cry _._ He’s standing, shaking like a leaf in the wind, shoulders hunched, drawing into himself in an effort to be left alone and invisible. “I’m going to give your Daddy a call, okay?”

Chan has roughly two minutes to pep talk himself to a functional status and not slip. He can do it. He...he has to focus on how patronizing the other man is being, thinking that he needs his caregiver to do anything. Right Chan is capable and independent, and he most certainly does not depend on a caregiver to live his life. 

He only wants to go to daycare because he’s lonely and allowing himself a safe space to slip will allow him to function better at home. Then he can get his work done and maintain a steady income. Chan nods to himself, rubbing the stray tears out of his eyes and nodding again. His hair and bangs are long, curls brushing the nape of his neck. It’s itchy and uncomfortable when every nerve is tense, ready to snap.

He turns, seeing the tour guide approach again, his eyes are wide, wet, and apologetic. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, he didn’t pick up.”

And Chan breaks. 

It’s an ugly break, spreading across the glass in a thousand webs, fracturing in numerous directions, splintering and leaving him whole and incomplete. The fragile dam bursts and tears cascade down his cheeks, spilling past his eyes and leaving angry hot trails and a pounding headache. He’s suddenly not even two mentally and feeling as exhausted as a two hundred year old might feel, bone weary and wishing for his whole ridiculous charade to never come to an end. 

Chan doesn’t need anyone. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ anyone. No one wants to be alone. 

It’s worse when he comes back into his own consciousness, having faked being a big boy well enough to wander out of Yellow Wood and stumble home. There’s a small package tied with a baby pink ribbon in his hands from the carers at Yellow Wood, nestled inside rests a red pacifier in its original plastic packaging with its own clip and lanyard. Tucked at the bottom of the pale box is the tour guide’s messy writing wishing him well and extending an offer of residency. Perhaps they knew, intuitively, that his caregiver doesn’t care for him. The fact that the voice-modulated recording Chan made a few weeks ago stating that he’s on a business trip abroad working its magic perfectly. 

He wishes he knew where he put the matching services documents. They’re somewhere in his backpack still, or maybe they migrated over to his small desk, now. Documents long since forgotten, cast aside just like the cowgirl doll from the animated film he watched last week. Still teetering so dangerously on the edge of his headspace, feeling vulnerable and wrung out it’s not hard to extend the metaphor to himself as well. 

The plastic packaging slips and splits his finger open, bleeding slightly. Chan doesn’t have any plasters to cover it with, but it hardly manners when finally, finally his paci is out. He knows he should wash it, but impulse takes over and he presses the rubber against his lips and slips the pacifier into his mouth.

On his own for four years, struggling for two on the streets in and out of homeless shelters before he saved enough to finally rent his meagre apartment. Two years of survival that kept his headspace at bay, favoring the tact and ingenuity of big Chan rather than the need for care and comfort. His side aches, memories of a particularly rough night, a shoe viciously kicking into his side as he cried on the wet pavement, another muddy shoe pressing hard on his windpipe. Another year of saving money and working hard to start making his small apartment livable before he even registered the now familiar warmth of his little side pushing to the forefront of his consciousness. During that third year, he slipped occasionally for a few hours here and there - casually, even if unplanned - but now as he’s been living alone for four years it’s unavoidable.

For the longest time he thought his classification was a mistake. The lie was comfortable and, really, he was certain he was a C level. Now, though, desperately lonely and struggling to take care of himself he knows he won’t make the same error any time soon. He sits in his empty apartment, nose dripping, tears leaking from his eyes while his knees are tucked against his chest. His teddy is on the floor, so, with his pacifier bobbing in his mouth, he leans down to pick it up and slips hard. 

He longs for the safe embrace of his Mama, her soft smiles and gentle fingers carding through his hair. It’s a visceral ache in his chest that swells like a balloon and, when it compresses, leaves Chan realizing how empty he is inside. Big crocodile tears leak from his eyes as he buries his face in the soft fur of his bear, for the first time in a long time. Wishing he could form the words so he could cry out in the hopes that she would hear, cry out in the hopes that _anyone_ would hear.

* * *

“I changed my mind,” says Changbin, looking pale, pressing himself against the wall. Felix tugs him away, pulling the older close with a tight grip on the dark coat. “Felix, Felix, I changed my mind, I don’t want to be here.” 

“That’s I have to come along, or so you told me, I’m not going to let you talk yourself out of this. Take my hand, it’ll be okay, Binnie-baby.” 

It’s a cute, teasing name that makes the other shriek in delight when little, hiding rosy cheeks into his hands or shoulder. Usually when Felix teases Changbin when he’s big, he usually gets an eyeroll or gently shoved at worst. Worst being Felix is a notorious repeat offender who’s deep voice can carry far when he wants it to, such as being on the street and wanting Changbin to bid goodbye to his roommates. Contrary to his usual reaction, Changbin rocks slightly, tucking himself further into Felix’s embrace. 

“Please don’t make me slip right now, I’m stressed enough to feel like I’m going to hurl. Being little right now would not help. I just want things to go back to normal.” 

* * *

“Things aren’t going back to normal,” says the Doctor. She’s a weathered, older woman with kind eyes of the warmest shade of brown. She tucks a stray hair out of her eyes before turning her computer monitor toward the duo, noticing how Felix is subtly leaning toward the trash bin on the ground. Changbin is pale, mouth slightly open and sweating profusely. Felix swiftly manages to give the bin to his hyung before the older retches - the caregiver winces, knowing that he’ll be on the other end of Minho’s rant for letting Changbin get so stressed and anxious to the point that he throws up.

“Can you explain, Doctor?” asks Felix, rubbing Changbin’s back as the older spits and apologizes quietly over and over again to the doctor. “I want to make sure he gets home sooner rather than later.” 

“I agree, but this is a conversation I need to have with Changbin-ssi, I’m afraid. As incapacitated as he is, currently, he still seems lucid and you are neither his emergency contact nor his caregiver.” 

Felix is pretty sure that Changbin murmurs that Jisung is his caregiver too into the water that he’s sipping, petulant and frustrated even as he looks as if his life has been drained out of him. Korea, although it has been making numerous progressive strides, is still painfully conservative when it comes to same sex couples. Technically Minho, registered as Changbin’s full-time caregiver, could lose his guardianship of Changbin if the news spreads that their mutual friend and roommate, Han Jisung, is Minho’s romantic partner and not just Changbin’s emergency contact. The little could be ripped away from his friends and life all without his consent because of how the loophole in little protection laws work due to their _scandalous_ relationship. It has the textbook definition of a drama written all over it - you know, if queer censorship wasn’t a thing. 

Changbin pokes his head back into the room, nodding at the Doctor gratefully and shoving the clinic’s toothbrush into his backpack. He inhales slowly, grabs Felix’s hand and nods to the Doctor once more. 

“Age-sliding isn’t unnatural, it’s just rather uncommon. Letter changing is rarer, but not as unlikely as one might expect. From the signs and symptoms you and Felix-ssi have mentioned, I would estimate you are registering around a B2 or A2, maybe 3 at most. There are 3 year olds who struggle with potty-training so it isn’t unheard of, but the general rule of thumb would put you at age 2. The amount of time your body needs can be affected by your environmental stressors, but I have seen numerous cases where it can be more permanent. Even some A littles go years without slipping because that isn’t what their body needs at the time, but later on when they are more secure will begin to regress as intended. The classification system was not designed to be an infallible diagnostic tool, just to give you an idea of what to expect. So your level may have even been off from the start. I always advocate to come back in for a re-evaluation once your headspace begins to settle.” 

“Doctor Park,” says Changbin quietly, “Could we do the eval one more time? It’s just...it just doesn’t seem real to me. I don’t know what I’ll tell my caregivers, it’s hard enough already to take care of me at C4 much less A2. I can’t put them through that.” 

Felix looks over at Changbin, eyes concerned and nearly identical to the sympathetic look that Doctor Park gives the young man. She nods before grabbing her clipboard and flipping to a new page, watching Changbin from over the top of the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. 

“When was the last time you slipped?”

“Yesterday, for a few hours,” breathes Changbin.

“Do you know how long you were regressed?”

“A few hours,” insists Changbin, before Felix interjects, shaking his head. 

“You were little for three days before that,” the younger pipes up. “You were big in the morning, but by afternoon you slipped again for about six hours.” 

Changbin shakes his head, mouth open, but refrains from making any further comment. Things rarely made sense anymore, he rarely knew how long he regressed - he knew it was long. He isn’t that dense to not know he slips for days on end. The stretches missing red Xs on his calendar, countless missing assignments leave that abundantly clear. And yet Jisung and Minho assure him that nothing is wrong, that it was only a few times, only a day or two. Was he wrong for wanting, so desperately, to believe their claims? They were supposed to take care of him, help him, protect him - what does this protect him from? The _truth_? Felix confirmed what he suspected all along, but his face felt hot - foolish for wanting to cling to a pipe dream. Changbin bites his lip, staring off into space while willing the flush in his face to subside. 

“When was the last time you felt little, when you felt the urge to slip?” continues Doctor Park.

“Today,” replies Changbin despondently.

“Can you be more specific?”

“This morning, in the clinic’s lobby and waiting room, now. All the time, it feels like I want to be little all the time, it’s - it’s almost like an addiction,” he says, choking up slightly, almost hysterical in tone. He cards his free hand through his hair, the other gripping tighter to Felix’s hand. “I can barely process things because I’m slipping so long and I get more stressed and that makes me slip more. I don’t know what to do.” 

Changbin’s voice is barely a whisper and Felix pulls him close to his side, but as much as he wants to stop the evaluation, he knows the other will never be able to rest until he has answers. He’s stressed, strung out, and flirting with the edge of his headspace, index finger rubbing his bottom lip, dipping in and out again. Doctor Park sighs before flipping the page and pushing on, frowning slightly at the slight whimper Changbin lets out. 

“Has anything in particular been triggering your regression?”

“Stressed, ‘m stressed,” mutters Changbin, he’s twitchy and visibly uncomfortable. He glances over to Felix who shakes his head in response, unsure of how to stop this evaluation when it’s clearly upsetting Changbin. The index finger is back in his mouth, poking at the inside of his cheeks and Felix has to resist the urge to pull it out when Changbin is desperately comfort seeking.

“May I ask why?”

“Because Daddy doesn’t love Binne anymore!” blurts Changbin before he crumples, shoving his palms into his eyes to cover the tears that are leaking out of them. 

“Why do you think that, Binnie?” asks Doctor Park calmly. While Felix appreciates how thorough she is, he could throttle her for pushing Changbin to regress and continuing the evaluation while he’s little. The little shakes his head, distressed and scooting closer toward Felix, nestling deeper into the other’s embrace to hide his tears. If anyone were to do the same to Chan, protocol or not, Felix isn’t sure that he would be able to be so impartial - her earlier backhanded comments are the only thing keeping him in his seat. 

“Too much work, too little, too busy,” murmurs Changbin, situating himself in Felix’s lap and resting his head on the other’s shoulder weakly. He sags in the other’s embrace, tired from feeling anxious and sick and now little to boot. He wants to go home, he wants his Daddy and his Appa. Felix rubs a hand down Changbin’s back, feeling the protrusion of his spine and the tremors spasming through him. 

“You know we have to look into this, right?” sighs Doctor Park, taking her glasses off and cleaning them slowly. Felix nods in response, hefting Changbin up onto his hip, marveling at how much easier it has gotten now that he’s started working out to pick Chan up easier.

“Assuring that there’s no risk to Changbin at home from the hands of his caregiver, that he’s safe, that he’s taken care of and loved. I understand.” 

“Can we have your input as a close contact, while you’re here, Felix-ssi?” Her pen clicks again and Felix knows it’s not a question. His eyes flick toward the clock - it’s getting late. Chan will be expecting him at daycare and he has no service - not to mention it would be rude - to send off a text to Jeongin. If he hurries he can make it.

* * *

He doesn’t make it.

Felix runs from the train station - wheezing and sweating, feeling his heart dangerously close to giving out while calling out apologies over his shoulder - as he sprints to Yellow Wood. He should clarify that he is an athletic individual: taekwondo, dance, weightlifting (recently), and running on occasion. But the sheer velocity that he is going at, wind burning into his face, pushing his body to its limit is testing the brink of his physical peak performance. 

He nearly wipes out as he begins to slow his frantic pace, waving his arms slightly to rebalance himself on he black ice. It’s a chilly day, the earlier promise of spring suddenly all but forgotten as winter sinks its fangs in once more. His eyes are watering, face hot and hurting from the wind but it doesn’t matter because he’s finally made it to the daycare center, and only 15 minutes later than he previously promised Jeongin. 

Felix expects to see Chan in hysterics, face flushed and teary-eyed as he sucks furiously on his paci but his baby is nowhere to be found. The windows of Yellow Wood are dark, everyone else having gone home. It’s dark out, but if he squints he can see what looks like Jeongin standing huddled in his coat, breathing on his hands for warmth. He’s holding Chan’s beloved teddy in his arms as well as the other’s coat, tucked securely under his arms; his ungloved hands are all but frozen solid.

“ _Jeongin_ \- where’s - Chan?” he wheezes out, spots dancing in front of his eyes. 

“Didn’t you get my call?” _Call?_ Two missed texts and a voicemail from Jeongin. “Chan _left_.” 

Felix feels a chill slither down his spine and tries to tell himself it’s from the cold. His limbs are already heavy and tired from arguing with Minho about taking Changbin to the clinic only a half hour prior before hauling it across town over to Yellow Wood. And now his baby is missing. 

“What do you mean? Why did he leave? Was he big?”

Jeongin shrugs, avoiding Felix’s gaze. His caregiver must have come for him - damn it he knew he shouldn’t have listened to Minho and had the little move in with him. It wouldn’t be kidnapping once Chan could come out of littlespace and talk to him about it - or at least explain where his damn caregiver has been this entire time. What Felix told Minho a few weeks ago wasn’t a lie, not in the slightest: Chan is deeply neglected as a little. 

And Felix, from the first moment he saw the other - face scrunched in laughter as one of the other volunteers played peekaboo with him - loved Chan deeply, tenderly. It was as if his entire world realigned to fit in better with someone he hadn’t known existed before, ready to do everything it takes to support the other in every way that he can. He hadn’t known how his soul was searching until he felt found, until he felt purpose. 

If he is being honest, living in Korea - for such a relatively small country - feels impossibly big. Or rather Felix feels impossibly small. It’s lonely. Felix cares little for the subject material he is learning in classes, struggles to find lasting connections with classmates; the most productive friendships he’s made are Jisung, Minho, and Changbin through the course that would eventually lead him to Chan. And, in spite of how settled Chan seems now, Felix wonders if he’s finally stopped drifting too, or rather, if now the twin stars are orbiting around one another. 

But maybe he’s wrong. Maybe they’re just comets passing one another like perpendicular lines - one sudden, brief meeting before heading off in different directions for eternity.

Maybe Felix is too attached, seeking a family where there isn’t one - where Chan already has one. Yet he knows that it isn’t just being a caregiver that he finds such purpose in, it’s being Chan’s caregiver. The little who gave him some direction, who changed his life in ways that Felix can’t even begin to articulate. His sweet baby who giggles to himself, dimples pressing into his face with a smile, tipping side to side a little from the force of his laughter. 

Chan has quickly rearranged everything, somehow redesigning the cosmos to become the center of Felix’s world. Other students in Felix’s class don’t put nearly the same amount of time into their littles that he does. Sure they may be attached, but they aren’t functioning as caregivers in nearly the same capacity that Felix operates in on a daily basis. 

It started with a text from the phone number that was designated as Choi Kangdae, Chan’s caregiver. Felix had his backpack on, preparing to leave campus to head to his charge’s apartment when his phone vibrated. _Going to be late, please pick Chris up from daycare. Back around 7._

Well, he wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with the baby. Chan was overjoyed to see Felix, actively reaching upward, winding his arms around the college student. So Felix stayed a little while longer, alternating between playing with Chan, doing an upcoming assignment, and cooking a simple meal for the baby. The apartment Chan shared with his caregiver was a little small, maybe, but it provided a cozy atmosphere especially in the dead of winter. The table is tinier still, compact and crowded with the amount of things Felix is balancing on it. Chan sat to his right, mouth open obediently, leaning closer for another bite of rice looking like a fluffy baby bird. Felix has a bottle warming, watching nervously as the clock pushes past 7:15, when Chan pads into the room, rubbing his hair with a furrowed brow. 

“You’re still here?” he asked slowly, “Most people would’ve left by now.”

“Your caregiver isn’t here yet,” replied Felix, “I didn’t know you were feeling big. But, uh, well I made a bottle if you still want it.” 

Chan shrugged non-committedly but eyes the bottle out of his peripherals as Felix begins layering on his warm clothing, bidding the other goodbye. He doesn’t stay to see the other hold the bottle with both hands, slowly tipping it back and letting his eyes slip shut. Felix isn’t privy to the deep wish that Chan had, wishing that Felix had been able to stay and give it to him before he falls asleep. 

About two weeks later, Felix received the next text. _Won’t be home tonight, after picking Chris up from daycare, will you put him down to sleep? He usually wakes up big._

Picking Chan up from daycare had become routine, the mysterious caregiver even asking if Felix would be able to do it everyday. It was lucky that Felix had picked a semester to suffer from morning classes. But leaving Chan asleep, little and alone? That was a little unsettling. Does Choi Kangdae do this often - leave little Chan asleep while he stays out on the town? Whether Chan wakes up big or not if Chan goes to bed little, he might still need help if he wakes up in the middle of the night. Besides there’s no guarantee that Chan will wake up big at all. 

Inwardly he wonders if he should be calling him Chris. Is that what the little prefers? Why couldn’t this caregiver just cooperate and help Felix figure out the best way to help Chan’s best interests? 

Still - it is how he finds himself most nights with Chan cradled in his embrace still little and latched onto the bottle, eyelids drooping and face content. Usually after they’ll cuddle for a little while and, if he feels particularly bold, Felix will rock the other and quietly sing under his breath. He’s been told his voice is nice - well when they don’t comment on how deep it is - and Chan seems to agree, face slackening even further within a matter of minutes. Creeping out the door while the other sleeps feels oddly scandalous like he’s a one-night stand that refuses to stay the night. 

Felix begins to run low on sleep, dedicating his evenings with his attention split between uninteresting coursework and the most precious little koala. As they get to know one another better, that clinginess becomes only more evident. A touch-starved Chan holding onto Felix’s hands, arms, whatever as he sits in the other’s lap, pointing at the images on the touch and feel book that Felix reads to him. They read a lot together, but also stack foam blocks and, more than anything, bond over music. Music is a deep connection that they share. 

On the off days, sometimes, Felix plays a game of pretend with himself. Imagines that he and Chan aren’t technically bound by a contract, that the other spends more time with him because he enjoys his company rather than it’s a convenience. There’s a few moments of glimmering hope - like when he gets a text from Chan asking to go and grab coffee at the nearby cafe. Before Felix even had time to register the message, a few hasty follow up texts send: saying that Chan felt like he might slip and probably shouldn’t be left alone in the heart of Seoul. In hindsight, Felix could tell the other wasn’t feeling small in the slightest. They grabbed their overpriced caffeinated beverages before ducking into a nearby record shop to get out of the sleet, exchanging views on different albums and trying hard to cover up how much they were shaking from the rain and cold. Another time, it’s February and the snow is piling up outside, Chan pressed against the window of the apartment, watching as the flakes fall in clumps that are rapidly collecting on the deserted streets. 

“I love snow,” he breathes, sitting on his knees, tongue out slightly as if to catch the snow fluttering down silently into the empty streets. There’s a set of footprints rapidly disappearing with the heavy snowfall, a whisper of life muffled by the blanket. “I never got to see it growing up in Australia, really.”

“Wait -” says Felix, turning fully toward Chan with a wide smile blooming on his face, scrunching up his features with unmatched glee, code switching into English without really thinking about it, “You’re from Australia, too?”

They’re shrugging on their hats and scarves in minutes, not bothering to tie their boots before dashing down the steps onto the snow covered streets of Seoul. The snow is just perfect for packing and it feels more like a scene out of a holiday movie than a blustery February night - or rather what Felix had always imagined it would be like, given that the holiday is during Australia’s summer. One of Chan’s snowballs lands squarely in Felix’s chest, knocking the wind out of him before he even has time to think about retaliation. Thirty minutes later, after trudging through the snow, they’re in a park flat on their backs and doing their best to make as many snow angels as they possibly can. Although the snow still silently glides down, the wheezing laughter and aching sides give the world a sign that spring is on its way.

And that’s how he finds himself spending more time with Chan when he’s big, too. 

Another month passes by without any further correspondence with Kangdae until he receives the next text: _Have to go into the office early, will you help Chris in the mornings and take him to daycare?_

It’s an abuse of how far he is willing to go, Felix knows this. Maybe both parties are a little shocked that he keeps saying yes, that he keeps pushing himself to make sure that Chan has all the love and support that he needs. That was only three weeks ago, two weeks at most since Felix and Chan barged into Minho’s apartment as he announced he wouldn’t be taking Chan home to that despicable creature. 

The mornings are when it becomes clear that Chan is not getting the care that he needs - still in his nappies from the previous day, clearly no overnight change. His rash is still bright red and hurting even with all of the attention Felix puts into resolving it - creams, airing it out, attention at bathtime. It can’t be fixed if he isn’t around all of the time to ensure that Chan’s needs are met. The days that Felix doesn’t see the other his mind wanders, full of worry about whether the other is eating, if he’s okay. 

His over-attachment might be a little unhealthy. Felix is more than aware of this, the guilt gnawing at his insides when he finds his thoughts drifting in class. He’s trying to distance himself, wants Chan to live his own fulfilling life whether that be big or little. He also just...wants to be there for the other. And that’s hard.

“Jeongin,” presses Felix again urgently, “I don’t blame you, but what happened? Where is Chan?”

The younger sighs, shaking his head slowly, “LCPS came to do a follow-up on another little, after hours, to see how they have been adjusting to their new caregiver. They came while we were waiting for you. Chan - I don’t even know what happened - the moment Chan saw their logo he started panicking. They didn’t even get two steps toward the building before he freaked out and ran.” 

“Was he big?” asks Felix again, looking around as if he'll suddenly see Chan wobbling unsteadily toward him, arms out as he tries hard not to slip on the ice. “I’m going to go find him. Thank you for waiting, Jeongin.”

“I’m coming with you, hyung,” says the younger, readjusting his messenger bag. Felix manages to tamp down his surprise at the other suddenly being so informal - he doesn’t mind, and Chan’s safety takes priority. “But, Felix-hyung, what do you think it means that Chan is afraid of LCPS?”

Nothing good. Maybe Chan’s no-good, dirty-rotten absent caregiver had given Chan one command before he left (or before he left to god-knows-where) to not trust anyone from the organization. A little fearing LCPS is a dead giveaway that something isn’t right. The matching services are hit or miss, the company itself can be questionable, but actively running from LCPS before they are even engaged? That is a warning sign if Felix has ever seen one. 

“I’ll take this side of the street if you want to go that way,” says Jeongin, pointing toward the right. Felix nods, cuddling Chan’s bear closer to his chest as he sets off. 

* * *

Seoul is dark and cold. 

Chan is sure that his lips have long since turned blue, but he keeps pressing forward - further away from Yellow Wood and the van. He should have known that Jeongin would figure it out or that Felix wouldn’t have the heart to turn him over to the authorities himself - why oh _why_ did he think that he could have it all? 

For a moment, everything seemed so perfect - spending most days with Felix, slipping regularly and still managing to get a little bit of work done here and there. He knew he was getting greedy, wanting more, tired of the constant headaches from pulling himself out of little space - knowing that it isn’t working as well as it used to. The scariest times are when Chan just stays little; even after attempting to force himself back into an adult mindset. 

Although the doctors always classify it as an involuntary regression disorder, Chan thinks he’s finally understanding the _involuntary_ part. Sure there are other issues - the fact that he usually regresses for days at a time between nine months and six months of age has done a number on bladder control - but those have always been manageable. 

It’s one thing to realize that he’s on the streets alone, somewhere in Seoul and feeling small. Pressing calls on his phone - Felix and Yellow Wood are listed as emergency contacts - is something he can usually manage to do as he starts losing himself entirely, but to be home and not able to tap into his big self was eye-opening. His apartment, what had long since become a safe space for him, was now overwhelming and empty and he felt stuck in his own skin, unable to think coherently, unable to do much else but cry. 

He holds his phones in his hand, wondering if he should call Felix from the phone of his “caregiver” or from his own. His finger hovers over the call button, pacifier bobbing but doing little to soothe his frayed nerves. He’s already been too greedy, wanting too much from Felix - he’s too kind, bringing warmth and sunshine into Chan’s grey skies and lonely world even when he gets so little in return. 

When Felix has to leave - the near thought sends him into another fit of bubbling hysteria, tears pooling in his eyes - he will have to finish filling out the little-caregiver matching forms. Chan, bumping on every sharp surface that he can, is feeling far too little and wrung out to be rooting through his desk for the forms. He hopes that Felix will still want to visit. 

And now, it’s cold, dark, and late for him to be out on the cusp of his headspace. He pauses, chest heaving, shivering violently as the cool night air continues seeping into the streets. The wall is cold and wet against his back as he pulls out his phone. The battery died hours ago from the cold; he has pulled it out of his pocket numerous times with shaking hands and numb fingers only to realize the phone won’t turn on. He can’t contact his Daddy even if he wanted to. Seeing the LCPS officers and van - he just panicked and ran. It would be easier than having to watch Felix give him up or, if by some beacon of hope, watch Chan get taken away from the life that he so carefully constructed over the last few years. 

Chan knew he was being dumb when he ran - but truly being yelled at for running is leagues better than having to see the disappointment on Felix’s face when he realizes that Chan has nothing worth loving.

His face is flushed bright red from the cold, mind slow and sluggish from the cold and his creeping headspace. Chan stops running, slowing to a halt as he pauses, blinking rapidly and surveying his surroundings, watching the buildings stretch ever taller and feeling hopelessly small and overwhelmed. He toddles over to the closest wall, tucked next to a rubbish bin and sits down sniffing loudly. 

The cold is bone-deep, he’s soaked to the bone, uncomfortable and every limb hurts. He continues nodding off, eyes drooping, but some part of him - perhaps the part of his mind that was not yet little again - was urgently reminding Chan of something important. Stay awake, it chided. _I want to sleep,_ he thought to himself, _I don’t want to be awake. I want to sleep and I want Daddy to sing to me._

Felix singing to Chan, holding him in a tight embrace as they gently sway back and forth is one of the little’s most precious memories, something so cherished even the thought of it can put him in a good mood for the rest of the day. If it links to his larger desire to have a sturdy rocking chair and be rocked before bed - then that is no one’s business but his own. But in the present moment he’s freezing, soggy and mind hopelessly confused as mind hypothermia sets in from the biting cold. 

Eyes drifting shut again, he leans his head back against the wall and readies himself for unconsciousness to overtake him, warm in the memory of Felix holding him tight. If he strains he can almost hear the other’s voice, calling out. 

“Dada,” he mumbles, surprising himself. For the entirety that he’s known Felix, he’s been almost entirely nonverbal, relying only on incoherent babble, pointing, and crying. Verbal days are few and far between when he’s _that_ young in headspace. Too young for most people to want to commit to, anyway. Three or four year olds like Changbin are usually much more desirable (as if littles are a hot commodity to shop for) when looking to become a caregiver due to their lively nature. He’s sleepy, though, barely awake as his head lolls forward every minute. “Dadadada.”

He’s still talking near-incoherently to himself, rocking from side to side until he tilts a little too far, tumbling down into the bin which clatters loudly against the sidewalk. He startles at the loud noise, lower lip trembling as he starts to wail louder for his caregiver; cold and miserable it’s a last ditch attempt. Some part of him must know that he might die here. 

It’s almost nine at night - hardly late at all - but many people turn a blind eye to a little struggling in the street. Hence the reason the protection laws took so long to get passed in the legislature anyway; prejudices are still rampant through society against littles. Even the laws themselves depict all littles as unable to take care of themselves in any regards. 

Maybe they’re right and that’s how Chan wound up in this situation. 

“Hello?” calls a voice - it’s smooth, having almost an elegant quality to it and distantly familiar. Warm hands cup his cheeks, tilting his head side to side, and he shies away - tender skin too sensitive to accept the skinship. He keeps babbling to himself, calling for his Daddy, as the other responds, “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Chan babbles louder in response, weakly pushing the other away. There’s a noise of confusion, high pitched and stressed the other shrugs off their own coat, throwing it over Chan’s shivering frame. The stranger grabs their own phone out of their pocket, shoving it to their ear mumbling quickly under their breath. 

“‘Min? No, I just left the hospital, my appointment was delayed. Let’s talk about my results later. Are you home from the office yet?” he breathes in shakily, “I found someone who seems little and they’re cold and almost dead and I don’t know what to do.” 

There’s a pause that lasts a few moments, but Chan pays it little mind. 

“I can try,” says the other with a determined nod and line between his brow. He leans down, hauling Chan up as best as he can before hobbling away while bearing the brunt of Chan’s dead weight. The little in question protests slightly, but is too weak to protest, hanging limply like a rag doll as the newcomer reverses direction back toward the hospital. 

* * *

When Felix gets the call, his heart soars for a minute before it plummets lower than ever, settling in his stomach and making its presence known. He gags slightly, shaking as Jeongin pries the phone out of his hands, putting it on speaker. Minho is on the line, talking to them slowly but it all goes in and out of one ear as he and Jeongin begin the trek to the hospital on the other side of the city. 

Sitting in a near-empty bus as they cruise along the city streets, the lines of the light dissolve outside the window into the background. He’s fortunate that Jeongin knows the way, so numb and distant he hardly realizes that they’ve arrived at their stop until the younger grabs his elbow, guiding him off of the bus. He doesn’t have visitation rights, is the thing. Felix can beg and plead - will do so, actually - to try and visit Chan and give him a familiar welcoming face other than Minho’s resting bitch face. No one else can be in the room. And neither he nor Jeongin have been able to get a hold of Chan’s caregiver to at least inform him of what’s happening.

Minho and two strangers are waiting impatiently by the door, the nurse turning toward Felix and gathering the younger into a tight embrace, running a hand through his hair as Felix trembles in his hold, trying hard not to sob. _It’s nothing major,_ says Minho, _he’ll be alright, Felix._

“You’re his caregiver, then?” asks one of the strangers hopefully, tossing his long blue coat over his arm and tucking his hands into the pocket of his blazer. He looks terribly overdressed for being in the waiting room of the emergency room at this hour of night. His dark mask covers most of his face, but even so he looks vaguely familiar to Felix, but he can’t quite put a finger on where they’ve met before.

“Ah, well, um,” says Felix, stammering, but before he can continue Minho steps on his foot as hard as he can. The younger winces, glaring at Minho who nods in response to the stranger. 

“Yep - this is him. It’s a newer development.” His eyes flit over to Jeongin and Minho frantically, the older mouthing _Talk Later,_ before ushering Felix into the wing where Chan is stable, but still unconscious. The nurse’s nails dig into Felix’s exposed skin of his hands - a silent warning to not say anything. The others push forward eagerly but Minho wards them off with a wave of his hand and shuts the door behind them, keeping them firmly on the other side of the admission doors.

“Minho - what are you doing?” asks Felix under his breath as soon as the door swings closed. “You’re going to get in so much trouble for this.”

“His caregiver isn’t in the database,” says Minho, voice barely louder than an exhale, “There’s been a delay for paperwork lately, it’s totally feasible that you just aren’t registered as his caregiver - and there’s no issue because he doesn’t _have_ one.”

Felix turns, eyes wide as he surveys the older. Minho wouldn’t lie about this and, having a little of his own, knows the paperwork inside and out after the custody battle with Changbin’s parents. Not that it mattered what Changbin himself wanted - little or as a grown adult the judge took preference over the opinions of the parents and prospective caregiver. Changbin was asked, of course, and his response might have had some weight in the final decision only “adult” perspectives were preferred. Still - Minho spent hours pouring over the legal paperwork with the lawyer and the intern. 

“Don’t do this, Minho-hyung, don’t make me hope.” 

Minho rolls his eyes, pulling Felix closer for a moment as they begin slowing their near-sprint through the emergency department.

“I don’t know how he did it, with the apartment and school, but I even went into the database - that’s deep digging, Felix - he doesn’t have one.” He pauses, coming to a stop as they near Chan’s temporary room. “You tell me - you know his situation better than anyone. Have you ever seen his caregiver in person? Have you seen any evidence that anyone else lives in the apartment?”

“Well, no, but -” 

“He was calling for his caregiver, Felix. That’s what the guy who brought him in - Hyunjin, I think - told us. Has he ever called for what's-his-name before? Has little Chan ever been vocal?”

The responding silence is enough for Minho to smirk and nod in a self-satisfied manner. Chan - little Chan - doesn’t even babble that much, only occasionally when Felix is clearly not getting his point. It has always been hard to tell if Chan wants to speak or not, hard to discern if anything is holding him back; it doesn’t stop Felix from talking to him absentmindedly, in English or Korean, gently telling him about his day, asking questions that receive no responses. 

Felix’s trepidation is evidently taking too long for Minho’s patience and he is pushed past the curtain into Chan’s room. Chan is curled on the bed, cocooned in a nest of blankets and fighting to stay awake, mouth open slightly, wide eyes blinking into awareness and itching at his IV. His fingers migrate upward, starting to pull at the oxygen and whining. He’s looking around - eyes drifting aimlessly until they lock onto Felix. The calm little pitches forward, arms extended, all but flinging himself off the end of the bed in his haste to make it to the other man.

Minho firmly holds Felix back, refusing to let the other get any closer - ignoring the heat of the younger’s glare as he saddles up to sit to the side of Chan. With a gentle hand, he pushes the other back onto the bed, smacking at the hand still fiddling with the IV lightly. Unable to move from Minho’s polite chastising, Chan continues leaning forward as much as he can, breathing hard and making small noises of confusion.

Chan is still cold, in pain and so afraid he’s trembling and he can’t understand why Daddy isn’t coming to him. Minho continues reading his signs, doing small checkups and keeping him stationary on the bed - able to wriggle around, but unable to go and meet Daddy halfway. Tears begin to boil over and still Felix won’t move, even as his own face flushes with his own tears in response. For the second time the words bubble up out of his mouth before his logic and reasoning kick in, “Dada, Dada.”

Felix starts forward, wringing his hands slightly but Minho keeps him there with a subtle shake of his head. The nurse knows that Felix, kind, caring, _attentive_ Felix has given the little no reason to cry out for his attention. It’s a little mean, even for him, but if he can just get Chan to repeat what he said earlier - what gave Minho the incentive to do some research. 

“Channie, where is Daddy? Can you point to Daddy?” 

He flings his arm out haphazardly, pointing urgently toward Felix before resuming his own wails and trying once again to escape the hospital bed. Minho snorts to himself - Felix’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates, mouth hanging open, closing every so often only to fall open again. His eyes soften noticeably as he exchanges a look with Minho, pointing at himself. The nurse nods with a small smile. Chan’s IV is starting to bleed from how it’s been jostled and that is Felix’s cue to get over his own shock and settle on the bed, pulling his little into his arms. The tension melts out of Chan’s shoulders as he tucks himself tighter in Felix’s warm embrace. 

Minho touches his shoulder, saying, “I have to go let the others know that Chan is awake, call Jisung, and check on a few other patients - the doctor should be in soon. If I don’t see you before I leave or Chan is discharged, make sure you thank Hyunjin...and the intern.”

“Intern?”

“You think that in a city of almost 10 million people that I wouldn’t have to run into that damn legal intern again, but no - and now we owe him and his partner? Friend? I don’t know. His Hyunjin. A blood debt, for Chan, we owe the smartass intern a blood debt.”

That’s why the masked stranger had seemed so familiar - even if only his friendly eyes were showing. Seungmin - the legal intern that was assigned to Minho’s custody case of Changbin. He and Minho had such a weird friend-enemy relationship for the entirety of the (long) court case; Felix inwardly is glad to see the other man again, even if Minho seems to think that animosity is mutual. 

“Small world?” he offers, starting to rock every so slightly with Chan in his arms, lulling the over-exhausted, over-emotional little to sleep, taking extra care not to jostle the numerous tubes helping warm him from the inside out. Minho huffs, waving a hand as he departs, leaving the caregiver and his little alone. 

Chan begins drifting off to sleep, the younger gently whisking away his tears with his sleeve, drying his face and eyes. His breathing evens out as they continue waiting ever longer for the doctor. Felix buries his face in Chan’s fluffy, disheveled hair, whispering quietly, “I was so scared today, Chan. You just disappeared and I kept thinking that if, if something had happened - we promised that we wouldn’t leave each other behind. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind, and I promised to be there for you, to take care of you when you can’t.”

He pauses, “I know I’m not your caregiver. But, I’d like to be. And if I dare to dream, I want to believe that you want me to be yours as well.”

* * *

Chan comes out of little space with his head on Felix’s lap, the other’s fingers running through his hair as he continues scanning the contents on his laptop with an increasingly confused look on his face. From the ceiling and the lack of beeping from a heart monitor, they’re not at the hospital. The older one turns a little, craning his neck in an attempt to read the pdf on the other’s screen - but can’t quite get the topic from the random excerpt. 

Felix’s apartment is a little larger than his own, but not by much. Every square inch of free space is occupied by a photo of friends, a poster for a band, a random sticky note tacked on the wall. Strange patterns conflict - the rug on the wood floors clashes against the throw blanket and the pattern of Felix’s duvet - but it radiates a sense of home, of completeness that it puts Chan at ease. The warm lighting washing over the room envelopes him in its tender embrace, letting his mind drift for a little while. There’s a few notebooks stacked on the coffee table and a mug of coffee that has long since gone cold. 

Even though he has rarely visited Felix’s apartment, there are still small bits and pieces of Chan strewn about the room. There are a few of his favorite pacis on the coffee table, mingling with the school and office supplies. His bear has slipped out of his grasp onto the floor. A few of his preferred toys have migrated over here as well - if he strains, he thinks he can recall Felix grabbing them to bring them to the apartment. He relaxes, laying back down on his back, letting his gaze drift toward the ceiling, still in Felix’s lap, locking eyes with the younger who’s gaze has long since left his laptop. 

Chan cocks his head with a grin, “Have you kidnapped me?”

Felix rolls his eyes and says with an inward smile, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chan knows they will need to talk about why he lied, about whether Felix even wants to be his caregiver - if that’s even financially feasible for them - but the worry that always ate at him when thinking about having a full-time caregiver is gone. Maybe some part of his brain finally clicked into place, maybe he’s just tired; he can’t say for certain. Six years of being independent, of knowing that he’s capable of supporting himself and now he feels ready. They will talk later, preferably out at a café. But for the moment, the afternoon sunlight is peaking through the windows, warming the duo as they relax on the couch, feeling the first hints of spring.


	2. Bonus: Changbin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a look into Changbin's experience with his caregivers because I couldn't stop myself

“What’s the worst place you’ve slipped?” asks Hyunjin, turning over on his side, propping his head up with his elbow. It’s late, the room lit by little more than a lamp in the corner of the room and a few strands of fairy lights Hyunjin had strung up a few weeks back. The floor is covered in mattresses dragged out from the main room, blankets and pillows plastered every which way - leaving no surface uncovered. 

“Ah, I don’t know, Hyunjin,” says Chan lightly, laying on his stomach with a pillow tucked under his arms. He glances over to his left, locking eyes with Changbin whose gaze flits away. “There’s never really a good place to slip when you aren’t at home or safe among friends.”

Hyunjin pouts somewhat, holding the stuffed lamb in his hands tightly. Knowing how important this was, though, Chan swallows his discomfort and pushes onward. He pauses for another beat longer moment before cracking a small smile, “One of the memorable ones was the first time I fully slipped - I was actually inside a MRI machine at the time.”

Changbin frowns, tilting his head, “You had to get an MRI?” 

Chan nods, “My mother really didn’t want me to be a little, she wanted to see if there was something wrong. A tumor, or something. Well - she got her answer. The lights in the machine made the background fuzziness in my head grow and suddenly - nothing.”

Hyunjin sits up, speaking softly, “You don’t remember?” 

Chan smiles, eyes crinkling as he says, “I’ve made my piece with the gaps in my memory - it’s not uncommon for littles. I remember certain things, smells, sounds, tastes...one of my earliest memories of Felix before we met properly is of his smile, remembering its warmth with his laugh. It was full of love, of happiness.”

His face scrunches up into a wide smile, pressing his cheek to his pillow. Chan’s thumb traces the bottom of his lip as he continues smiling radiantly. His smile and mood are, by far, the brightest thing in the room. Changbin smiles softly, his touch as soft as silk as he pulls Chan up into an upright position as he says, “Careful, Chan, you’re going to positively trigger your regression.”

Chan nods, blinking hard for a moment. Slipping wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world - he generally has little control over it anyway but Seungmin and Felix had coordinated this to be on the weekend Felix had to go to Busan for a conference for one of his classes. Little Chan - though cheerful and social, loving spending time with his Binnie and Jinnie hyungs - doesn’t always respond well to Felix’s absence. The trauma of abandonment will do that to an infant’s mindset, he supposes. 

He cracks a smile turning toward Changbin, raising an eyebrow, “And the pillows and plushies won’t? We’re just as likely to trigger one another.”

Changbin flops onto his back, shoving a pillow in his face while attempting to smother himself, whining, “Don’t remind me. You  _ always  _ make me feel younger.”

Changbin’s voice has pitched a few tones higher, straddling the line of purposefully cute and the line of his headspace. He puffs his cheeks out a little, before smiling to himself, a few giggles chiming in the room. 

Hyunjin trembles a little, trying to stop smiling as he says, “It’s because you’re so short, hyung.”

Changbin’s cries of outrage are drowned in Hyunjin’s laughter, sounding out sharp and clear. It’s quiet for a moment before Chan snorts and the trio collectively lose what little composure they had managed to scrounge together. Changbin laughs, high pitched and happy, eyes scrunching up as he tips over a little further onto Hyunjin. The man in question laughs hard, wiping his eyes for a few stray tears escaping from his own joke before pulling Changbin in tighter. 

The rest of his questions go unanswered for a moment, but Hyunjin will manage. He’ll just have to talk to Chan on another day, maybe get Changbin to warm a little more. The younger of the two hasn’t answered a single question in the few hours they’ve been together, not about his status as a little, nor his caregivers and how he met them.

* * *

“She can’t  _ do  _ that!”

The first thing Minho hears when he enters the office is fervent arguing, a male voice - heated and a little raspy - responding insistently to the sympathetic receptionist. The girl, only a few years older than Minho himself, tries to placate and reason with the shorter dark-haired man in front of her. He’s dressed in all black, the glare on his face is incredibly intimidating; but in his hands, just out of the receptionist's sight, he’s clutching a small plush munchlax keychain so tight his knuckles are turning white. 

“I’m sorry, but you do not have a registered caregiver and so, technically, the authority of your wellbeing defaults to your parents or guardians. She is able to withdraw you from your classes. I am very sorry, Changbin-ssi.”

“But she can’t do that -” says the man again, voice starting to crack from desperation, pitching higher and wavering. His hand clutches the keychain tighter while his other scrubs at his eyes for a moment. If he starts crying, Minho honestly isn’t sure how Hyerin will be able to save the situation. The man wets his lips, clearing his throat a little, before continuing, “But I paid. All my classes are paid for. I paid out of my own pocket. I’ve been taking classes for over a year now. She can’t do that.”

“We will be sure to reimburse you fully, Changbin-ssi. As long as she remains your caregiver in the eyes of the law, it is just out of our control.”

“I don’t want the money back!” snaps the other, “I want to take  _ classes _ .” 

“Minho-ssi?” calls another voice, walking into the room. His counselor adjusts her glasses before smiling warmly at him, beckoning her to follow. Even as he grabs his backpack, following her into the farther offices, Minho’s gaze lingers on the upset man in the main room - glancing backward every so often as if to remind himself that he was real. 

“So what brings you in today, Minho-ssi?” smiles the counselor, bringing Minho back to the present. He forces his drifting thoughts away from the scene moments earlier, back into the current moment. “You mentioned when scheduling that you are hoping to graduate early?”

“Oh, yes. I want to know if it’s possible, I’ve been doing well in all of my classes even with the number of credits I am taking.” 

“That means you would be graduating around this time next year. It is very impressive to be done with our nursing program in three years. Let’s see what we can do,” she replies with a twinkle in her eyes. 

Minho leaves feeling much less confident in his decision than when he entered, clutching a stack of notes and pamphlets about the next steps in his job process and tips for how to be an attractive candidate. Was it not enough that he’s been working as a nursing assistant for the last three years? He’s hunched over, walking in the direction of his next class, paying no attention to his surroundings while shoving the endless flyers into his backpack. 

Needless to say he doesn’t see the collision coming.

It’s only his years of dance that keep Minho from falling down, arms flailing for a moment but managing to right himself. The other person - what he collided with, if Minho were to wager a guess - is not so lucky. He’s a little shorter than Minho, on the leaner side, and now sprawled flat on the dirty linoleum floor. As the other sits up slowly, wincing a little in pain, scrambling on the floor for what he dropped. Minho blinks in recognition, registering the boy as the one arguing with Hyerin earlier. 

“Oh - I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going, are you alright?” apologizes Minho hands halfway extended, folded in hesitation, but ready to help if the situation demands it. 

The other - Changbin? - whimpers quietly, staying on his knees on the floor as he looks under the vending machine. He shoves a hand under it, making a few uneven gasping sounds while frantically reaching under the machine. Minho cringes from how dirty it must be, but the other sits back in a moment, holding the broken carabiner previously connected to his keychain. 

Changbin brushes himself off while biting his lip hard enough to bleed, sitting on his knees, barely acknowledging Minho’s presence. Another minute ticks by, each moment stretching for an eternity as Minho debates whether it is best to just leave or not. The fragile façade of control that Changbin spent the last twenty minutes cultivating in the bathroom after the humiliating discussion with the receptionist and his academic advisor is wiped away. The first few tears start leaking from his eyes as he steadfastly tries to ignore his headspace - the stupid reason he is in this mess in the first place. Losing his keychain - the only plush toy he actually wanted - was the final straw.

Minho watches with dawning horror as the other slips into his headspace, the misery and upset of earlier too great to be big as he usually would. His eyes begin to fill with tears that spill over, cascading down his cheeks as he lets out a soul-wracking sob. The irony of wanting to be in headspace when that is the root of his issues is not necessarily lost on either of them - as much as Minho could infer from the snippets of the conversation he could hear. He’s still sitting on the dirty floor - coat sleeves just a little too long and extending past his hands - looking impossibly small and defeated. He keeps looking back toward the vending machine, eyes wet and lost. Changbin, unthinkingly, moves to put his first two fingers in his mouth - and Minho snaps out of whatever trance he was stuck in. 

He eases the finger away from Changbin’s mouth, to which the younger frowns and moves to put the offending appendages back in his mouth. His hiccupping loudly, crying uncontrollably, with violent sobs shaking his whole chest. He whines at Minho as the older tries again, trying to force his only source of comfort back where it belongs. 

“You shouldn’t do that, your fingers are dirty from being on the floor and reaching under the vending machine.” 

“Nuh uh,” murmurs Changbin, while his other hand begins wandering up to his mouth as well. Minho sighs, pulling out an emergency pack of tissues and dabbing tenderly at the other’s eyes and nose before grabbing his wipes and deftly wiping down Changbin’s hands. Never has Minho been so grateful to be working in a medical setting at the height of cold and flu season. Minho pauses for a moment before helping the other stand, leading him into the nearby bathroom to wash hands and his face. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Should we call your caregiver?” he offers, feeling like he’s floundering as Changbin cautiously reaches up to take his extended hand. His fingers interlace perfectly with his own and Minho feels a little better about the odd interaction. Changbin shakes his head as Minho heaves him up, setting him on the counter before starting to wet a few paper towels. 

“I don’t have one. I only have Mommy.” 

“Well let’s call your Mommy, then,” responds Minho easily, starting to wipe once more at the salty tracks of tears on Changbin’s face. He hands a sealed water bottle to the little one. Changbin holds it listlessly before letting it slip from his grasp, falling on the ground.

“I don’ wan’ Mommy,” says Changbin petulantly. “She’s mean to me, she’s mean to Binnie.” 

Minho frowns somewhat, “How so, sweetheart?”

“I wan’...I wan’ take classes, but she say no.” He sniffles a little. “Binnie’s too little.” 

“How old are you?” asks Minho cautiously, starting to dry Changbin’s face. He is lucky that nothing bad happened when he slipped, so willing to cling to the first sign of comfort - even finding that comfort in a stranger. Changbin holds up his fingers - just 4. Minho retrieves the water bottle he bought from the vending machine from the floor, breaking off the seal before handing it to Changbin, slowly helping the other. 

“‘M not little all the time,” says Changbin quietly. “Not much. But Mommy says no.” 

Minho knows he’ll be missing lecture, but extends another hand toward Minho. “Well maybe we should talk to the Little Services Center and see what they say?” 

The grin he gets in response makes missing lecture an easy decision.

The on campus LSC (Little Services Center) doesn’t have much by means of challenging Changbin’s mother’s authority as his caregiver.  _ In loco parentis  _ of the organization, while only technically struck down, is also contradictory in conduct regarding littles. Yet, Minho and Changbin find a small solution. Changbin can be at LSC’s daycare services and Minho will bring him his notes, enrolling and participating in class as a distance learner. It’s under the table, unconventional, and definitely not allowed. Which made both of them all the more eager for the solution to pan out. 

Of course, promising to bring the other notes means that Minho spends many days with Changbin, both big and little. Even the short visits, only five minutes, allow him a glimpse into that wonderful mind. 

“Minnie!” cries the other, setting down his plush toy and running across the room, flinging himself into Minho’s arms. Changbin’s weight is quickly redistributed as he wraps his legs around Minho’s waist, hugging his neck fiercely. His smile is unparalleled, cheeks just round enough for Minho to contemplate pecking them. Even with Changbin’s face hidden, he can feel the little’s grin from where he nuzzles into Minho. 

Changbin is wearing pastel clothes again, ones that he only moderately tolerates but his mother thinks are adorable. A pink sweater and tight pastel green shorts when Changbin has described to Minho - in excruciating detail - his favorite outfit on Tuesdays when little is his yellow hoodie and dungarees. If Minho’s browser history now consists of pages of different pairs of denim overalls - including a few that had sunflowers on them - then that’s between him and his internet provider. 

Weeks went by in a similar fashion, a simple wave if he’s big - most of the time he was - and they’d sit and chat for a little while. Minho would, routinely, enable Changbin’s coffee addiction (not allowed in LSC building, for obvious reasons) - if the younger was little, he’d merely swap cups and give the younger the hot chocolate instead. His wallet might be crying a little from all the drinks, but the sigh of relief or cheers of joy were more than worth it. 

More than half the time, the younger has his wrist bound in some sort of brace, especially if he is little. From what Minho can tell, it harms more than hinders - Changbin has never shown any issues with his wrist - but it becomes clear enough what the purpose of it later as Changbin falls down, starting to cry. This particular wrist guard restricts Changbin’s thumb, forcing him to not be able to self soothe by thumb sucking when needed. 

Minho feels nothing but hate toward the other’s mother, emotions only amplified when Changbin comes running toward him on one sunny day in late May with arms wide. Both of his hands have been put in wrist guards, but the school has been slow to act on any suspicion of neglect and abuse. His fingers have been sucked raw, face red and splotchy, and his words are so incoherent due to his hiccups that Minho can do little but sit on the ground and rock him back and forth.

It takes only two words for the entire peace he has constructed, the friendly distance he’s built between himself and Changbin to crumble.

“Mommy knows.” 

One of his professors reached out to his mother about a concern in class, that Changbin was struggling due to status. Their solution has, predictably, blown up in their faces. Changbin won’t get the education he’s always dreamed of and Minho, Minho will go back to his regularly scheduled programming. Won’t have a reason to swipe a lolly from the nurses’ station to take to Changbin when visiting after a shift - something in him makes an ugly cracking sound. 

“Don’ leave Minnie, I’ll be good, I p’omise, I don’ wan’ to go with Mommy,” wheezes Changbin, tripping over every other word, trying to inhale deeply and coughing on his snot and other drippings. His fist is clenched tightly in Minho’s shirt, hard enough that his knuckles have turned white, just like he held his plush keychain so many months back. 

“I know, sweetheart,” says Minho slowly, “I don’t want you to go, either. Mommy makes you upset doesn’t she?”

Changbin nods, using Minho’s scrubs as a handkerchief. Minho says seated on the ground, doing little more than rubbing the other’s back, leaning his head on Changbin’s. Under his palm, he can feel the little trembling. Changbin pulls away, tears still falling from his eyes. 

“I wanna stay with you, Daddy, please don’ leave. I won’ cause, t’ouble, p’omise, ‘m not even lil’ mos’ days.” 

“I know, baby,” whispers Minho reverently, pulling Changbin into a firmer embrace. The exhaustion of crying has finally worn the other out, dozing on the caregiver’s shoulder. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me to.”

* * *

“I’m not going, I  _ refuse _ ,” says Changbin plainly, crossing his arms across his chest. The dinner table feels like an ocean, even with the amount of food they had ordered in - most of his favorites. He refuses to be bought. Instead he makes a show of grabbing the pamphlet, crumpling it up furiously and sending it flying across the room into the living room. 

“I’m just asking you to reconsider, I’m not sure we have any other option, Changbin-ah,” replies Minho, running a hand through his hair. Jisung wordlessly stuffs another bite of food into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks in an effort to not say anything. Part of it feels like he’s imposing, even if he’s sort-of Changbin’s caregiver, is he really? 

“I don’t want to force you,” continues Minho, a heavier tone settling in his voice. “But given what you’ve said, I don’t see any other option. I want to make sure that you’re safe, if you slip and no one is here, no one knows what could happen.”

“Nothing is going to happen because I’m not going,” retorts Changbin, not even caring about the tears building behind his eyes. He hates daycare, hates it so much, it’s not safe, it’snotsafe, Daddy  _ knows  _ this so why is he trying to make him go now? Nothing is going to happen because he isn’t going to daycare. 

  
He won’t.

  
  
He goes to daycare. 

  
  
His look of utter betrayal is met with an apologetic gaze and kiss on his forehead from Minho, a gentle caress and hug as he departs. If Changbin weren’t so insistent on staying big (to protect himself this time, a snide voice chides) he would be little in a moment just watching the retreating back of his caregiver. Even so he holds tightly to Gyu and hides a few tears in his soft exterior, grateful for Innie’s hand holding his own. 

The daycare isn’t the worst in the world, he’s grateful to have Chan there as well as Innie. Hyunjin has stopped by too, hair still blonde and long, swiping one of the nanny’s aprons to conceal himself from the supervisors. He fits right in, laughing with the littles while playing dolls, helping them arrange their different costumes, tiaras, skirts. 

Chan is big today, on his left, chatting animatedly with Jeongin. He still has his pacifier clipped to his shirt, but hardly seems to notice as he laughs with his whole body, slapping down another card in the game. Changbin’s own hand doesn’t make sense, he can’t tell which ones are 6 and which ones are 9 and he feels tiny, helpless, feels like his Mommy was right. He is a dumb baby. Chan’s laughter warms him from the inside, easy going and light - so far from the earlier struggles he faced, long since having sorted everything out with Felix. Their paperwork is finally being processed and Chan couldn’t be happier. 

Changbin is envious. He misses his Daddy, his Appa - feeling smaller than ever, but walking in shoes that are too big and not knowing how to explain what’s wrong. His caregivers are busy, making ends meet as best as they can. If he’s not a burden, Daddy will want to keep him. He already forced Minho to take him in as caregiver, then asked him to go to court against his mother, then asked to move-in with him as he couldn’t make rent payments due to the frequency with which he was slipping. He’s been waiting years for the other shoe to drop and he can’t help but wonder if daycare is the beginning of the end. 

Later it’s naptime and being young A levels, Chan and Changbin are in the adjacent room. The cot is scratchy and he thinks - with a horrible bright red flush of mortification that creeps up to his ears - that he might have wet his pull-up without realizing. He can’t stand the thought long enough to even check. In the bed next to him, Chan hums to himself, holding his teddy while gazing up at the ceiling, eyes tracing invisible patterns between the glow in the dark star-stickers. He’s just as awake as Changbin. 

“Chan,” whispers Changbin, sitting up. “Can I sleep with you?”

Chan nods hurriedly, pulling back his blankets and scooting over as best as he can to make room for Changbin. Neither boy is that large, but the cot is narrow, rickety and groans under their weight. Their limbs tangle together, Changbin can feel the rise and fall of Chan’s chest with each respiration. And yet, it is the most secure he’s felt all day. 

“Does Felix always make you go to daycare big?” he asks, as they lay facing one another. 

Chan shakes his head, “Sometimes. If I’ve been spacing out a lot - or showing other signs of slipping, he’ll encourage me to go. But today, I wanted to go, because I knew that you would be here today. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Changbin’s lip trembles, “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I know. I wanted to.” 

Feeling warm and safe in Chan’s embrace, Changbin finally lets his eyes drift close. His first two fingers migrate into his mouth and he yawns a little, snuggling closer to the older boy. Chan smiles, holding the other close and waiting for sleep to come. 

* * *

Han Jisung hasn’t slept in three days and he thinks it is starting to show. 

Classes are spent in a dissociative fugue, present but from a third party perspective seeing himself take notes. Notes that later turn out to be incomprehensible nonsense. But he isn’t sure that he can risk ruining his creative energy, the momentum he has gathered to finish crafting the song he has been working on for months. Should he be working on his midterm for his music composition course? Maybe. 

But lately, the effort of transforming his cherished hobby into a career has him running the risk of hating what he has always loved. Morphing something cathartic that can expend all of his pent up anxiety, frustration, and other emotions into something beautiful that others can relate to is a fantastic skill. Yet he would be showing parts of his soul to a thousand strangers and, somehow, something keeps holding him back from dedicating himself to this path fully. He can bare his soul on SoundCloud. 

Changes to his future career can come later, but first he needs sleep. And to pass this composition course. If he can find it in him to focus.

Yet focusing proves to be its own challenge as he begins people-watching, wondering if everyone else is going through the same collegiate-crisis as he is. It does little to tamp down the discomfort of being surrounded in a room with hundreds of other people, eating, talking, breathing - staring fixedly at the clock above the door is the best way he has to not lose his mind. In his constant clock monitoring, he begins to take note of the star pupil tucked into the desk in the corner of the room, closest to the front, and also closest to the door. Seo Changbin. 

It’s no secret that Changbin gets the highest marks in class, when he shows. For how diligent the other is while in class, it seems that he either has a weak constitution or other issues - mental health, maybe? - that prevents him from coming to class. One time he even burst into the class late, bowing his apologies to the professor with his face bright red. Well he doesn’t miss that often, just enough for Jisung to realize it. Every other week? Every third week? 

In other words, Jisung has stopped paying attention in lecture for an alarming amount of time. Hopelessly behind and resolving to work on it at home, Jisung relegates himself to watching the other. Changbin seems to lack the ability to multitask, solely focused on his laptop, working on his composition programs to integrate the professor’s techniques and explanations into the pieces he is currently finessing. Occasionally Changbin will open up a notebook or a word document to type a few notes, but even through his unconventional learning method when the other gets called on by the professor, he answers the questions clearly and succinctly. 

It’s a chilly day in October when Jisung has failed to deliver on another assignment - giving a great piece, says the feedback, but not what the assignment asked for. He swallows his pride and walks down the steps toward Changbin, sliding into the seat next to him. Changbin looks at him with wide eyes, looks around the room again, head tilted ever so slightly as his gaze returns to the newcomer. 

Jisung bows, introducing himself quickly. He opens up a spare page of his notebook and begins taking diligent notes in neater handwriting, finally seeing a reason to strike up a conversation with the other. One quick question after class about the assignment turns into two, turns into polite before class conversations, turns into afternoons spent working on their compositions. 

As Jisung’s grade improves, so does his friendship with Changbin. 

That is, until a day in mid-November when Changbin stops coming to class and Professor Kwon asks Jisung to stay behind to talk after class. 

The professor sighs, running a hand through his grey-streaked hair, before saying, “Jisung-ssi, I need to ask a favor of you, I’ll also need you to not talk about this to other students for Changbin’s privacy.”

A little. Changbin is a  _ little _ . He wonders how young the other regresses, if he is an A, B, or C level. Jisung has, somewhat shamefully, never met another little. Most littles prefer privacy - for obvious reasons - and their caregivers are usually incredibly discreet if possible. He is fairly certain it has been this way since he was young, but he might be conflating his experience in Malaysia with his younger memories. Still - Seo Changbin is a little and his preferred caregiver has asked to hand deliver his notes, if possible. Interesting. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” says the other man, with fluffy brown hair and a coy gleam in his eyes. His dark circles around his eyes match those Jisung seems to sport constantly, although his waterline is red, eyes just the slightest bit puffy. There’s a tissue stuck in his sleeve and Jisung wonders if the other has been crying. Changbin’s caregiver is already gripping a cup of overpriced coffee like his life depends on it, but insists on paying for Jisung’s regardless. “I’m Lee Minho.”

“Han Jisung. So...you’re Changbin’s caregiver?” 

“Well,” he pauses, grimacing slightly as he rubs at his neck, “Ideally. There’s been a few issues regarding caretaking. Did Professor Kwon explain Changbin’s situation to you?”

Jisung shakes his head slowly, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed in the middle of a busy coffee shop. Minho sighs, taking a long sip of his drink before continuing, “Well, in short, Changbin’s biological mother believes that he doesn’t need a college education because he is a little. He didn’t have a caregiver so jurisdiction for his well being defaulted to his biological parents or guardians: she forced him to withdraw from classes. So, last spring, Changbin and I struck a deal that I would become his caregiver so he can continue taking classes.” 

“Sounds like something out of a drama,” says Jisung, with a raised eyebrow, “But go on.”

Minho laughs under his breath, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, “We’re in the midst of a legal battle now. For, uh,  _ custody  _ over Changbin.” 

Minho spits the word custody like venom, face screwing in distaste. He draws in a long breath, raspy and aching, eyes flitting to the side as he tries to collect his thoughts. The coffee shop, in reality, is bustling - loud calls for patrons to take their drinks, the din of machinery, polite conversation filters in one ear and out the other. Yet nothing seems louder than Minho’s small sniffle as he opens and closes his mouth, the redness around his eyes growing. 

“Uh, well, Changbin’s mother is contesting my authority as a caregiver in a court of law on the grounds of my age, finances, and current status as a university student. So far she has garnered the favor of...everyone. So they’ve temporarily removed Changbin from both my care and classes. He was, uh, he was taken when I dropped him off at daycare.” 

“What?” asks Jisung, before biting back his regret. “That’s terrible, Minho-ssi, I’m so sorry to hear that. I - Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Minho nods, “Yes, well, uhm, Changbin’s mother recognizes me - obviously - so I need you to bring Changbin notes and his homework. But, to do so, I need you to pretend to be my legal intern, Seungmin, saying that you are bringing case file notes to Changbin. She doesn’t know what Seungmin looks like - and the lawyers are the only people allowed contact with him. I wouldn’t ask a stranger of this, but I don’t know what else I can do. Please, Jisung-ssi, his education is important to him. I couldn’t bear it if I failed him one more time.” 

Jisung’s mind was already made up before he heard the full story. When he heard the story, his conviction doubled. 

* * *

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but you shouldn’t be fighting your regression. You also shouldn’t be camped out here, avoiding Minho-hyung and Jisung,” says Felix dryly. 

Changbin groans, “You know it’s not exactly my choice to not see them.”

“Okay,” replies Felix, “Then stop fighting your regression.” 

The older groans a little louder, sinking down a little further next to Chan who is shaking a rattle furiously with the largest grin on his face, giggling widely. He’s been using it as a mallet on the xylophone with little success. The baby pauses, turns toward Changbin with the sweetest look on his face and promptly shoves the rattle in his face, babbling nonsensically. It is a pretty rattle, even if Chan has drooled all over it by shoving it in his mouth periodically. 

The one end, as most rattles are, is a clear plastic dome filled with a metric ton of holographic glitter and silver plastic orbs to reflect the rainbows out and back. It seems a little overkill if the baby won’t appreciate it, not to mention the health hazard if it leaked, but when Chan shakes it again - the metallic insides reflect small speckles of rainbows all over the floor. Changbin stares, gaze softening as he coos a little, loving the noise from the rattle as well as the visual effects.

The sensation of his sleeve in his mouth is what pulls Changbin out from his reverie over thirty minutes later, Chan now having moved on to alternating between stacking blocks and playing with a bumble bee plush whose wings crunch. The rattle has somehow migrated to his own hand and Changbin is all but clueless to what happened. Felix looks over, now setting lunch on the table when he had only just been opening the fridge moments before. 

Right. Big. He needs to be big. He sets the rattle down, pushing hard on his temples in an effort for sheer will to overcome his still involuntary regression. Hot pulses of pain resonate, shooting outward from Changbin’s temples and he muffles a whine into his soggy sleeve. 

“Wan’ Daddy,” he mumbles, Daddy always has a solution, if not, Appa has a cuddle to make him feel better. 

Felix sighs, more to himself than the little spiraling fast on the floor of his modest living room. Chan crawls over to the other baby, hugging him clumsily - and Felix’s heart has never been softer. But the issue remains - does he respect big Changbin’s wishes to have distance from his caregivers or call Minho and Jisung to pick up their baby? Each move risks only aggravating things further and, not for the first time, Felix wishes he wasn’t caught in the middle. 

Somehow taking Changbin to the clinic for a check-up with his doctor had only aggravated old wounds for Minho. Hence why he was almost late to pick Chan up on that god-awful day. 

Changbin is still in hysterics, sobbing on public transit for everyone to look at the flustered caregiver and wonder what on earth Felix had done to the poor little. His hiccups rattle his whole chest, gasping for air with every inhale, taking a few sips of offered water just to cry more. It’s the most unsettled Felix has ever seen the little by a long shot - to make matters worse, as little as he is, he still seems to waver between his headspace. The news of being an A level - a young A level - has disrupted any peace Changbin has found in the last few months. 

Felix rocks him, rubbing and patting the little’s back and mouthing apologies to the other’s on the bus. A few parents send sympathetic glances as Changbin rests his head on his shoulder, fingers in his mouth while still sniffling every so often. It gives Felix an opportunity to try and get water into the severely dehydrated little - well aware the both throwing up earlier and this crying is taking a toll on Changbin’s health. The water was promptly refused. 

“My god, what happened?” asks Jisung, as Changbin reaches out, calling for his Appa. The caregiver automatically shifts to settle Changbin on his hip, bouncing him while rubbing his back. “Aigoo, sweetheart you’re so worked up, tell Appa what happened, hmm?” 

The little in question loses what little composure he had. He whimpers once before sobbing harder than before into Jisung’s sweatshirt, fists balling up the fabric of the caregiver’s hoodie. Jisung’s expression melts as he hoists the little up higher, patting his back and trying to get the little to calm down, talking softly into his ear. Changbin keeps trying to explain, but he’s little and distressed, so what comes out is more than a little nonsensical. Felix hands over Changbin’s bag that he had brought to the hospital, glancing at the clock while wringing his hands - he has time. Not much, but he has time. 

“Sung? What’s going on?” calls Minho, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He got off a double shift, resting the whole day before his night shift, only waking now to the distressed cries - almost screams - of his little. 

“I don’t know,” says Jisung, bouncing Changbin a little faster, “He just came home with Felix and was like this - I can’t get him to calm down, either. Can you take Changbin while I go find Gyu, please?” 

Minho scoops Changbin into his arms, looping the little’s arms around his neck as he rocks him from side to side. He presses a few kisses to Changbin’s temple, murmuring quietly to the little who has quieted down, now taken to sucking on his middle three fingers, lip still wavering. Minho’s face is stormy as he turns to Felix standing in the doorway, with an apologetic look on his face and no explanation prepared.   
  
“What happened?” 

“Changbin asked me to take him to the doctor’s today. We just got back - it didn’t go well.” 

“Why would he ask you to go? Why not Jisung? Or me? I’m his caregiver.” wonders Minho, muttering under his breath. His brow is a little set, anger misplacing the hurt and worry shining in his eyes. He sets Changbin down who clings to his pant leg, giving the baby a gentle pat on his bum to run after his Appa. Binnie stays seated on the ground, reaching up toward Jisung searching through the bins frantically - pulling out countless plush toys in search of the missing Gyu. 

“I don’t think he wanted you to worry, Minho-hyung, you’ve been pulling double-shifts non-stop lately. Maybe he thinks neither of you had the time.” 

“I always have time for him, why would he think that? Why  _ you _ ? You aren’t even a caregiver,” snaps Minho, sitting down on the couch, hands clenched in Binnie’s blanket discarded there. Felix wants to assume that Minho - one of his best friends - has good intentions, but it hits a little close to home after a long day. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be a caregiver, it’s not like he isn’t taking care of Chan without anyone’s help.

Minho shakes his head, as if to dismiss the argument, before continuing, “Well what did the doctor say?” 

Felix inhales slowly, bracing himself as he says, “That’s not for me to say. And Minho-hyung, Changbin was big this morning and he asked me to accompany him, so I did. Why wouldn’t he want one of his friends to go? He can make his own decisions. It’s not like either of you have spent time with him in the past few weeks when he’s big or little.” 

The blame there partially rests on Changbin as well - knowing how susceptible he feels to slip, downplaying it to his caregivers and spending a lot of time with Felix and Chan. Even this morning had Changbin all but begging Felix to go to the doctor with him, terrified of what the outcome will be - what he knows, intuitively, what the outcome will be. Support to deal with what Minho and Jisung will think as they travel to the hospital goes unsaid. Felix’s hand still aches from the force of Changbin’s grip, tightening each time a nurse or doctor enters the waiting room. It was harder than a woman gripping another’s hand when in labor while they sat watching the clock tick by until Doctor Park came to get him. Needing another reevaluation of his regression levels - a possible reopening of the court case is the last thing Felix should be telling Minho. 

“Of course he can make his own decisions, Felix, but I need to know,” says Minho hurriedly, “I need to make sure he’s alright.”

“He will be fine, medically speaking,” says Felix honestly, “But I don’t think I should tell you more than that, but I also don’t think you should be blowing off what I said. You need to spend time with him, Minho, I know you’re busy but you can’t just take care of him when it’s convenient for you.”

“That’s not what I’m doing at all! You don’t understand because you aren’t actually a caregiver,” says Minho crossly. The minute the words leave his mouth his face crumples, regret filling his features as Felix nods a few times, mouth set in a bitter line. He blinks rapidly a few times, well aware of how Changbin is still watching while waiting for Jisung to return from his second trip to the room - still looking for Gyu. Being friends they unfortunately know the things that get under one another’s skin. 

“Well maybe Seungmin was right and you shouldn’t be a caregiver,” says Felix, voice cracking, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pick up Chan. And for the record, this was exactly the reason Changbin didn’t want to tell you about the clinic visit.” 

Jisung returns to a room that is the equivalent of a boiling cauldron, Changbin and Minho feeding off one another’s distress. The caregiver is slumped over on the couch, little in his hands as he buries his face in the other’s hair, silent tears dripping down his face. 

They’re on better terms now. Minho helping at the hospital did enough in Felix’s mind to mend much of the rift, ease sore feelings by (even indirectly) admitting that Felix is a caregiver. The extra month of time and an exceedingly long discussion about the things they said also helped. Yet Felix wonders if he’s the only one walking on eggshells when it comes to Changbin. Taking a step and hearing even more splintering and cracking when talking to the two caregivers - bitter tones that don’t quite conceal the upset that they haven’t even been able to get in contact with Changbin. Jisung doesn’t help - qualifying himself by saying he’s not “really Changbin’s caregiver.” The law can suck it. Jisung is always taking a step forward, then two steps back, reaching out and then retracting his arms as he doubts himself. 

Why can’t things just be easy? Jisung’s heart is in the right place, always attending to Changbin - going with him to class when he feels like he might slip, helping him dress when little, feeding him. Minho is a good caregiver as well, but self-doubt and outside influences are powerful factors. Not to mention their lack of transparency with one another. 

Still - as frustrated as he is, he won’t deprive Binnie of time with his caregivers. Although Felix is certain that Minho is on a shift tonight. So phoning Jisung it is. 

He picks up after one ring, voice a little thick and muddled, “Hello - Felix?”

“Hey, Sungie,” says Felix softly. “I thought I should give you a call and let you know Changbin was over and ended up slipping.”

“Binnie is there? Is he alright? Can-can I talk to him?” 

Jisung’s tone cracks and wavers, borderline frantic from how quickly he picked up. The month of not talking to his caregivers after being forced to go to daycare - refusing to slip, growing more and more distant have come to a head. Felix can hear the desperation and overwhelming relief in Jisung’s voice as Felix talks, the muffled choked up sounds -  _ is he crying? _ Felix beckons Changbin over who stands up unsteadily before toddling over to Felix. Chan whines a little before attempting to coordinate his limbs and crawl over - navigating the perpetual mountain of toys. 

“Binnie? Baby? It’s Appa,” says Jisung tentatively as soon as Felix manages to get the phone on speaker near Changbin while attempting to wrangle Chan with the other hand. The baby in question squeals in glee, trying his best to make a quick escape, loving playing with his Daddy. 

“Appa?” says Changbin, his finger returning to his mouth. He watches the scene in front of him with a powerful sense of melancholy not usually found in two-year-olds, aching viscerally for his home and caregivers. He knows, inwardly, that big Changbin is very upset with his caregivers, but it seems so silly when he’s always left alone trying to act bigger than he feels. “Miss you.” 

“Appa and Daddy miss you too, baby, so  _ much _ ,” says Jisung. Felix can hear a sharp inhale and shuffling, he can almost see Jisung covering his eyes with his hand as he starts to cry in earnest. 

“Appa?” asks Changbin quietly, though the word is a little garbled with how his finger stays in his mouth. Felix offers a paci, but Changbin only holds it loosely, playing with it in his free hand while his right hand stays in his mouth. “Am I bad?” 

“What?” cries Jisung, voice wet, “No, no, angel, this is all between Appa, Daddy, and, um, big Changbin. We’re just trying to sort things out, remember Seungminnie? Well Daddy has to talk to him again and if the judge says okay, then we can all be together again, okay?” 

“I wanna go home, Appa,” says Changbin, lip quivering. Felix limps over, Chan on the ground hugging his leg with wet eyes of his own, and scoops up Changbin and the phone. The little wraps his legs around his waist, burying his head into Felix’s neck but it does little to prevent Jisung from hearing the sniffles and quiet cries. 

“I think you need to come over,” Felix says softly, “Come, have dinner, stay the night if you want. Chan and I can co-sleep, we usually do when he’s little, so you can use my bed. Just - let’s have a nice night, yeah? Forget all of this worry and upset.” 

Jisung arrives shortly after, breathing as if he had just run a marathon while holding a bag of takeout to add to Felix’s meal that he cooked (as best as he could while managing both Chan and Changbin). His eyelids are red-rimmed, puffy with bags betraying his forced cheer, whispers of sleepless nights and endless worry. Pushing his own reservations aside, Felix wordlessly opens his arms and Jisung launches into the other’s hold, resting his head on the other’s shoulder for a moment. 

They separate after a few moments, Felix tugging Jisung into his new apartment. It’s much more spacious than his previous one, even though it’s decorated somewhat similarly. It has the same elements of home, posters and pictures decorating the walls in a seemingly random fashion - photos of him and Chan, other friends, family as well as their shared musical tastes. The kitchen is still small and only semi-functional, bleeding into the common space with Channie’s toy box spilling out onto the carpet. The real benefit of dropping their individual leases and joining are the two bedrooms, one for Felix and one for Chan. 

Chan’s bedroom is where Jisung finds the pair of littles. Chan is sitting on top of Changbin in the rocking chair, oscillating back and forth. Changbin has a battered story book open - one of his favorites - and is reading slowly. Well, perhaps not reading, at a mental age of 2 he really is just repeating the memorized words of the fable to Chan who listens with wide eyes, paci bobbing back and forth while clutching his bear. 

Jisung and Felix stand in the doorway, watching silently for a moment as Changbin continues to relay the story in a high pitch voice, half baby talk half comprehensible words and turning the page when he feels like it. 

“And then...then,” he falters as he looks up, catching sight of Jisung. “And then...” 

Felix walks into the room, reaching down and meeting Chan’s waiting arms, heaving the little onto his hip. He presses a kiss to the little’s cheek, precious giggles filling the room, smiles around his favorite pacifier. It’s a welcome sight after so much heartache. 

“Come on, Channie, let’s go change your nappy and then finish making dinner while your Jisung and Binnie hyungs talk for a little while, mm?”

He’s met with an onslaught of baby babble, which Felix takes to be an affirmative as he smiles and closes the door behind him. It shuts with a quiet click, but it seems thundrous in the tense silence between Changbin and Jisung. 

“And then?” prompts Jisung, voice softer than the clouds in the sky. He points to the book, sitting down on the floor next to the rocking chair, cupping his face in his hands. “What happens next, Changbin?”

“And then...his fam’ly hears him cry, and th’ fin’ him...and then...then th’ duckie happy ‘cause he knows where he b’longs.” 

Jisung exhales slowly before reaching out and intertwining Changbin’s fingers with his own. Reaching out with his spare hand to whisk away the tears in the little’s eyes as he kneels on the floor next to the little. Changbin holds the book open on his lap, tears slipping down his nose and hitting the page with a wet splat. 

It’s one of the books that he would read again and again, and Jisung knows it's partially due to the book being one of the few happy memories that Changbin shared with his mother. That when she was attentive and actually listening to his needs, that they would sit and read the book together. Even now he would read it again and again with Minho and Jisung. 

“You know, Binnie, Appa doesn’t like that book very much.”

“Why?” asks Changbin, voice so small, so frail. He sounds younger than Jisung has ever known, helpless and lost. His chest aches, cold regret raining down on him - but he pushes away his own feelings for the moment. 

“Because I, Appa, thought it meant that you have to be with the family of birth, instead of the one you made or the one you want. Like being with Mommy instead of Daddy and I or...or whoever you want to be with when you’re little, petal,” says Jisung softly. 

Changbin says nothing, keeping his gaze low, warm hands playing with Jisung’s fingers. He seemed to be utterly captivated by the silver rings on the other’s hands, sliding them back and forth and twisting them every which way. 

Another moment passes before Changbin speaks, “But Binnie not ‘posed t’ be li’l. Not ‘posed t’ need nappies or pacis.”

The caregiver sighs before continuing, voice almost a whisper, “There’s another meaning to the story, when the duckling finds out his family, after he accepts who he is, he could be who he was meant to be all along. The support of his family allowed that and I am sorry, Binnie, if I wasn’t clear about that. Daddy and I want you to be  _ you _ , as big or little as you need to be, but more importantly as you  _ want  _ to be.” 

Changbin launches himself forward, wrapping his arms and legs around Jisung, squeezing as hard as he can. It was rare, even when little, that he would show such physical affection for the other, content to play on his own or hold hands. Cuddling happened, but it varied in frequency and usually was when he wanted to sleep. This - the full weight of Changbin clinging to him, Jisung pressing kiss after kiss into the crown of hair is new. 

Jisung isn’t deluding himself into thinking things are fixed or fine. The trauma from his mother’s treatment plays a large role in Changbin’s weariness of age sliding as well as the lack of communication with both Minho and himself. The reassessment and reevaluation from LCPS regarding Changbin’s care, even if his mother had been ruled unfit to take care of the little, looms on the horizon. It’s another one of the reasons Changbin technically isn’t able to come home, coinciding with his intentional avoidance of contact with his caregivers. 

He wipes Changbin’s teary eyes with his sleeve before peppering kisses to the little’s cheeks when more threaten to fall. 

Felix knocks on the door, waiting a few beats for Jisung’s affirmative noise before opening it. If he strains, he can hear Chan babbling to himself in the kitchen and the sound of a wooden spoon hitting a pot. The amusement must show in his expression because Felix shrugs and says, “He’s helping. But I’m not letting him stay near the stove unsupervised. Dinner’s ready, if you are.”

Changbin clearly has other plans than getting ready and moving. Felix although he has been working out and is clearly stronger than before, still doesn’t bulk up much - so honestly Jisung has no idea how he carries Chan around like it’s nothing. Then again, Chan wasn’t taking care of himself and is still a little underweight. Changbin is not the lightest baby in the world and is currently refusing to be maneuvered the way Jisung needs to get him up in his arms. 

Still - it’s never stopped him before and he  _ certainly  _ isn’t going to let it stop him now.

* * *

What Jisung and Minho refer to as the Incident™ happened a few weeks before Changbin really started to slip often. Changbin has no name for it, because he would like to forget it happened in the first place. 

The Incident™ marked the start of the unpredictability in Changbin’s regression, so really, if that didn’t happen then there was nothing for him to worry about. More importantly, it meant the time when everything started changing between his caregivers and him - so it is better left forgotten. Struck from historical narratives. Seo Changbin most certainly did not get seized by LCPS because he slipped in public and got hit by a car. 

The full story, which Changbin did not tell his caregivers about, is much more embarrassing than simply getting hit by a car and picked up by LCPS. If he just got hit by a car when little it wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassing. 

His head was fuzzy when he woke up that day, as if someone had taken a thin rod and pushed cotton through his ears, nose, and eyes until his brain was nothing but a sheep. It was cold, the wood floors refused to retain any heat during the winter months leaving Changbin’s bedroom an icebox. It didn’t help that he usually left his warmer, softer blankets at Minho and Jisung’s place. It felt like it might wind up being a little day - thoughts sluggish and slow, quick to orient toward his childish interests and comforts. 

It can’t be a little day. Changbin just had a little day - two, three days ago? It’s not a little day. He’s just getting sick. 

In-between days, days spent on the verge - Chan would agree (any little would) are the worst. It’s hard to dress, looking at his closet neither his big clothes nor his little clothes look remotely appealing. He settles for a black hoodie and enormous black sweater-coat-hybrid that swamps him, making him look smaller than he is. It’s a velvety material and he knows it’ll be acceptable if he ends up slipping. 

Changbin grabs his backpack, shoving a few miscellaneous items - double checking for his laptop - before heading to class. The train makes him a little more awake, a little less worried about regressing, tense from the crowds but no longer feeling the fuzz of the onset of his headspace. He has his senior seminar course, working on his capstone which will be fine followed by the ethics class he pushed off to his last semester. 

He hates the class. 

For someone who teaches the ethics of laws regarding the treatment of littles, his professor certainly knows how to get under Changbin’s skin. A few snippy comments here, a joke just too cutting to be understood as such - but the on-campus LSC usually just gives him an apologetic response saying that he just needs to bear it. They’ve tried to challenge the professor’s authority before - the university backs him up every time. 

The senior seminar course flies by but Changbin knows he’s losing time. Spacing out for longer moments that grow longer each time, blinking only to find that more than twenty minutes have passed and he’s put his hoodie strings in his mouth. Walking to class he starts a mantra in his head in an effort to make sure he knows what he needs to do.  _ Ethics, text Minho and Jisung, dinner, bath, sleep. Ethics, text, dinner, bath, sleep.  _

The last (and one of the only) instances when he slipped in public was when he went to a club to hear a friend DJ. The colors, noises, and sweaty, smelly people all in his space sent him into sensory overload, everything was too much and before he knew it he was little. He hardly noticed that he was little, such a seamless transition was virtually unheard of for Changbin. One moment overwhelmed, the next feeling helpless and tiny. 

He had just wanted a night out to see his friend perform, wanted to escape his mother but ended up calling Minho. Shivering in an alleyway until Minho came to get him with Jisung, both looking disheveled, but when little - Changbin hadn’t even questioned it, merely been over the moon to see his two favoritest people in the world. 

It wasn’t long after that instance that Changbin began calling Jisung by his title rather than his name. Somehow even at a mental age of four, he still managed to be more tactile and perceptive than Changbin was at his adult age. Not that Changbin didn’t eventually realize that Jisung and Minho were in a relationship, but it was shocking how quickly Binnie got over it. He loved to monopolize his Daddy’s attention, after all. 

Changbin slumps down in his seat in his ethics class, pulling out his notebook with a yawn. He’s not risking losing or dropping his laptop if his hands slip or shake - when little he knows he is clumsy. Simple things just get  _ hard _ . Writing won’t be easier, but at least there will be less property damage and risk to himself and others. If the laptop fell onto the person in front of him in the lecture hall he might as well not come back. 

The professor slinks to the front of the room, pulling up their powerpoint and slide deck. It’s a case study day, on a recent court case regarding custody of a little and Changbin can’t help the sinking feeling in his gut. Names and identifying information are always cleared, but he can’t help the panic rising in his chest as the professor drones on. 

The professor’s eyes bore into Changbin, even when moving away or referencing notes Changbin seems to be the spot they return to. Two magnets drawn together by an invisible force no matter how hard Changbin tries to keep them apart. The little wants to ( _ needs _ to, his mind explodes) self-soothe. Needs his fingers in his mouth and his blanket in his hands, preferably tucked nice and night in Daddy’s soothing embrace. 

It’s a custody court case where a little wanted to go to university and get an education, finding another caregiver in order to do so. Changbin knows that his professor knows the case is referring to him. It’s a gross violation of his educational rights and privacy, but the names were changed before the professor would get the material - he could feign ignorance. Hot tears bubble in his eyes as the professor begins to talk about the choices made by each party, Changbin is shoving his notebook into his backpack and leaving the lecture hall before he even has the chance to breathe. 

His hands shake as he phones Daddy once, twice, three times, face warm and wet from the humiliation and thought that everyone  _ knows _ . It’s no secret that Minho is one of the handful of littles that go to their school, that he lives with an equally young caregiver. That he’s behind in his studies because of his mother. He thinks that most college students could put two and two together. Jisung doesn’t pick up either and that stings even more - that neither of his caregivers are able to help him right now. 

He sniffles again, dialing his phone, staring at the call waiting symbol and resisting the urge to tuck his fingers into his mouth. Changbin continues walking in the direction of home when he snaps. His carefully constructed wall around his little space, the mantra he repeated to himself, his efforts to push himself to go to class all come crumbling down in an instant. He stops suddenly, cheeks wet and doesn’t know where he is or how he got there. 

There was no way to even see the car hurtling around the corner.

Some part of Changbin knew there would be consequences, but Minho always declined to let the younger know exactly what ramifications had come about due to the hit. For Minho, it was a sign of the self-fulfilling prophecy from Seungmin. 

You see, it isn’t that Minho doesn’t like Seungmin or enjoys antagonizing the younger (although that is partially true). The intern has the uncanny knack for seeing through other’s facades and calling them out on their nonsense. In the midst of the case that Minho was already worried he was going to lose, Seungmin pulled him aside. 

“You need to be careful,” he says plainly, “You are setting yourself up for failure. If you continue like this, you shouldn’t be a caregiver at all.” 

The fear of Changbin retracting everything that they had talked about, that he would one day wake up and realize that he no longer wants Minho to be his caregiver is a persistent worry. It lingers in the back of his mind, a snake poised to strike. Seungmin stated that he, a pseudo-lawyer who is supposed to be  _ helping  _ Minho, doesn’t think that he can manage taking care of Changbin. The car accident seemed to be an omen for worse things to come. 

Then Changbin began to regress more often, less and less predictably with what triggered his regression. Minho, in light of his better judgement, keeps pushing himself harder at work. If Changbin doesn’t want to go to school or can’t afford his apartment he can work with that - but he wants to have a little more income to support his baby. The legal bills are still a specter in the mirror, lurking behind him. He spends more time with Changbin, but as the hospital puts him on call, making him pull doubles, it’s harder and harder to admit he has the energy to do much of anything. 

The accident was strike one on the settlement they had reached - if Minho could prove that he could single handedly provide for Changbin for 2 years with no issues he would be granted full custody. The second strike was the hospital visit, when Changbin said that he doesn’t love him anymore it became clear that his own actions were only doing more to push Changbin away. Minho knows that it’s his fault, shouldn’t blame Seungmin or Felix for being honest but it’s a hard pill to swallow. 

And then the court decided he shouldn’t have contact with Changbin for the duration of the reevaluation. Having big Changbin avoid him was hard enough, but having it barred as an option - unable to talk to him, to explain his own position only let the wound fester. 

But there, sitting next to Jisung in the hospital, the steady beat of Changbin’s pulse humming in his ear, holding the little’s hand while waiting for the anesthetic to wear off so they can go home, Minho can’t help but think that Seungmin might be right. 

* * *

“Felix-hyung?” calls Jeongin, shrugging off his coat while ushering Chan in the door. The baby stumbles a little, arms wavering unsteadily as he toddles inside. 

“In here!” calls Felix, waving from the kitchen table with a half eaten bowl of cereal and cold cup of coffee. Chan immediately takes off, hugging the wall for stability before resorting to attempt to crawl to his caregiver. Felix coos, easily meeting the little halfway, scooping him up and pressing numerous kisses to his cheeks. “You don’t even have your coat off, baby, did you escape your Innie-hyung?”

“Yes,” mutters Jeongin, running a hand through his hair, “I honestly think he’s faking struggling with crawling - I set him down to get my breath, blink, and he’s halfway down the block.”

“Maybe it’s deserved, Innie. You’re not any better, you regularly play games against Changbin and Chan and refuse to let them win. But you took Chan home without any issue, so I guess I’ll keep you,” says Felix with a laugh.

Jeongin nods, “Well you’re buying me dinner anyway to say thanks, right hyung?” 

“I suppose that can be arranged.” 

It’s nice to know that Jeongin is willing to stay and help with Chan while Felix studies for his finals, making a valiant effort to put a dent in all of his final papers, projects, and the mountain of studying that awaits for him. There’s only so much he can do to entertain the little and play with him while also dedicating his full attention to the looming deadlines. If it means splurging a little more on the younger’s favorite restaurants and food then so be it. 

“Changbin wasn’t at daycare today, hyung,” says Jeongin softly before taking another bite of food. Felix looks up from where Chan is attempting to get out of his high chair, pausing with a bite of noodles in his chopsticks, hovering in midair. Chan whines a little, trying to reclaim the food he was promised, leaning forward to wrestle the food out of Felix’s hands while fussing in his high chair. 

“Dada, dada,” murmurs Chan, kicking his feet a little impatiently. 

Felix runs his free hand through Chan’s hair in an attempt to soothe the little before scraping a few more bite size pieces onto the tray of the high chair. Although little Chan gets so frustrated, it has been a useful contraption for meal times. Not only has it made spoon feeding Chan easier, it helps to counteract the loss of some fine motor skills Chan experiences when big. Being able to feed himself no matter how clumsy helps to reinforce those skills sets. It was a toss up between buying a high chair and rocking chair and waiting for the crib or splurging on the crib - Felix hopes his current offer from an online book seller might pan out and he can afford a crib by Chan’s birthday. 

“He wasn’t?” asks Felix, turning to the care center worker who shakes his head. 

“I was wondering if you knew why, I thought that Minho and Jisung had Changbin on a similar schedule to Chan to make sure that he would have someone to talk to, that he felt safe with. Hyunjin checked the other rooms and the service desk, but no one has heard from any of them.” 

“Is Hyunjin volunteering?” asks Felix absentmindedly, brow quirking before shaking his head and focusing on the matter at hand. “What day is it?”

“The 18th, and yeah, he’s volunteering, he really relates well to the littles, he does a great job playing with them,” replies Jeongin. He takes another bite of food, watching as Chan leans over his tray again, clamoring for more food. Even at lunch and snack time, when not feeling anxious, the little has a healthy appetite. The sauce from the kimchi is smeared on the baby’s face, so as all friends do, Jeongin snaps a photo to torment him later. 

Felix frowns, but doesn’t reply. It’s not unusual for Changbin to attempt to skip out on daycare, more than willing to risk his own safety to go off and try to regain some semblance of control over his life. But since his heart to heart with Jisung, he’s been...better. 

Marginally better.

He still fights tooth and nail against things he needs now - because there’s no question, at this point - such as nappies and pacis, insisting that he’s still too old for such babyish things. Changbin’s scars lay right over his heart, so even when he’s acting tough Felix knows that his heart remains as soft as a baby bird. It’s the 18th. The day that his [initial] adoption with Minho was confirmed. 

He hopes that the two are spending it together, that Jisung managed to get off work. That somehow the radio silence means that they are off sneaking away so that Binnie can spend the day with his Daddy and Appa, even if it’s against the courts wishes. 

Later, as he’s carefully helping Chan in the bath filled to the brim to the bubbles. Chan picks up a mountain of bubbles, babbling something about a wish before blowing the soapy foam all over his caregiver. Blinking back the suds, Felix wonders if Chan is right and that maybe a miracle or a wish will be granted. 

* * *

“Binnie?” whispers Jisung, reaching out a hand to caress Changbin’s cheeks. “Are you awake, angel?” 

The little’s face scrunches up, whining softly as he tries to get back to sleep. He pulls his blanket up to his face, rubbing it there for a few moments to soothe himself, face slackening for a moment before dozing once more. Jisung sighs, sitting up and carding a hand through the little’s soft hair. It’s no wonder the baby doesn’t want to get up, it’s the middle of the night - but Binnie would never forgive him if he let this opportunity slide. 

Ever so gently, he maneuvers Changbin up into his arms, the little’s breath fanning out over his shoulder as his chest rises and falls with sleep. The moon is rising in the sky and they still have a short journey to make it to their destination. Jisung buckles Changbin diligently in the modified car seat, heart pounding at the thought of the court knowing what they were doing. 

“Appa?” asks Changbin, rubbing his eyes.

“Shh, Appa’s here, angel, do you know what day it is?”

The baby thinks for a moment, eyes slipping shut even as his mind started to whir back to life. Blooms of excitement start to dawn on the baby’s face, mouth opening as he lets out an excited giggle and nods. He leans forward to whisper it in Jisung’s ear, holding Gyu and his blanket close to his chest as Jisung nods in agreement. 

“Do you want to see Daddy?” whispers Jisung, voice so quiet not even a passing mouse would be able to pick it up. 

Changbin nods once, twice, heart pounding with anticipation. He kicks his legs, wide awake as the city streets whizz by, the lights leaving streaks in their wake as his Appa navigates the dark streets of Seoul. Binnie is still tired, tired all the time but he’s looking forward to what Appa has in store. 

They arrive at a hill in a park that Binnie thinks big Changbin knows, it’s tall and familiar and has soft grass and a big view of the city. The night is a little cold, but the warm summer air still lingers - a comforting touch of nature surrounding them. On the hill, there’s a single figure facing the city skyline, aglow from the city’s lights and the kiss of the stars. 

Changbin makes an odd sound between a laugh and a cry before doing his best to run over to his caregiver. Appa steadies him, hands gentle as the little runs unsteadily, doing his best to free himself from the other’s embrace. The next time he falls, he’s caught by his Daddy’s secure embrace. He should be mad, raving and upset - knows that somewhere within his consciousness, his big self is likely still vibrating with anger and hurt - but this is his  _ Daddy _ . 

And it’s been so  _ long _ .

Time works differently for littles. Stuck at the (more or less) same age mentally, young and trusting, and still prone to impatience and need for instant gratification. Time is sluggish, slow, weeks passing by A levels in a blink of an eye without realizing it - until they do. Until Binnie looks around and realizes that he hasn’t seen either of his caregivers in weeks, that he hasn’t heard from his Daddy in a very long time. Then time is stopped, frozen in the period of waiting not unlike purgatory - internalizing that somehow it’s his fault that his caregiver isn’t present.

(It’s not entirely his fault. He knows it’s not. He’s had it explained to him that the reassessment of his well being is taking time, that he needs to be in a neutral environment to assess his attachment, development, and well-being). 

Most conflicts when little can be resolved with a cuddle and time. Reestablishing any lost trust is still a slow process but needing additional assistance with most tasks gives ample time to work on relationship building. Part of Changbin doesn’t want to cry so easily, doesn’t want to melt so willingly into Minho’s warm, secure embrace nor bury himself in his shoulder. But a large part of him does - and trying to discern the fine line of whether that is the opinion of his little self or his big self leaves him with a sharp headache. 

Would it be so bad if it was both?

The blanket on the ground is soft and warm, patterned with stars reflecting the ones in the sky. Changbin is warm from the additional blanket his Daddy wrapped him in before pushing a leak-proof thermos of hot chocolate into his hands. It’s a warmer night out so if he’s being honest, the baby is a little overheated from both of his caregivers on either side of him, keeping him warm and comfortable. But he can’t bring himself to complain as he sits up, watching the sun start to spill over the horizon, leaving Seoul awash in a golden glow. 

Jisung, after a while, has fallen asleep, hand still interlaced with Minho’s while leaning on Changbin. The older smiles, taking off the blanket from his shoulders to cover those of Jisung. 

Changbin burns to Minho, tilting his head ever so slightly to look the other in the eyes as he says, “Thank you.” 

“It was the least I could do,” replies Minho, “Things have been a mess, lately, and I know it’s my fault. I want to do better by you, if you will let me.” 

That was the easy thing about Minho. He didn’t need Changbin to explain that he was feeling a bit bigger - first time in a week and a half that he’s out of headspace, he’s pretty sure - didn’t spend too much time groveling. It’s a sincere apology, even if it’s not outright. Unlike his friends, Minho focuses on action. Words, as musical as they are, mean little if there is no follow-up. It’s one of the traits that Changbin has always loved about Minho. Changbin’s mother may have let the little get caught in a web of lies and unkept promises, but Minho always followed through. 

“I’m still upset,” admits Changbin, “and afraid. I don’t want you to see me as a burden or extra work now that...now that I’m an A level. I lose track of time, need naps, even nappies, sometimes. I feel different and over emotional. I want to stop fighting myself, but I don’t want it to come at the expense of our relationship.” 

With the daylight, the flowers over Seoul bloom in hues of pink, periwinkle, orange before deciding on blue. Watching the sunrise had always been the tradition for Minho and Changbin on the 18th of May, content to spend one last full day together last year before hearing the verdict of the judge. From sunrise to sunset, both then and now spent in secret when they weren’t supposed to (necessarily) be in contact with one another. It’s easier to watch the sunrise then to see the pity in Minho’s face. Still the older turns Changbin’s face toward his, movements ever so slow and as soft as the clouds in the sky.

“I never thought of you as a burden, Bin-ah, Jisung doesn’t either. I’m worried that one day you’ll realize that you don’t want to have me as a caregiver, that you’ll see I can’t provide for you or accommodate your needs. I...I doubt myself, so I thought that by working more and pushing myself harder I could show you that you can be as little as you need without worrying about funds or, or anything else.”

“I know and I appreciate it,” says Changbin softly, “But I could tell you were burning out fast and I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault.”

“Never,” says Minho, raising their interlaced hands and pressing a kiss to the back of the younger’s hand. Changbin smiles, even if it’s watery - it’s the same gesture Minho would do whenever Changbin would have a rough day with his mom. A kiss on the skin that was hurting from the brace or duct tape she would use to deter his self soothing behavior when he was home. The kiss on his hand is a silent admission -  _ I love you for you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel for Changbin that maybe 3 people wanted - I am one of those people. It wouldn't leave my head.
> 
> Look angst, hurt/comfort, and relationship development are my bread and butter. I could write fluffy little space but evidently I am unable to not make it dramatic - there's a reason I love dramas (telenovelas, K-dramas, C-dramas, romcoms). Besides sprinkling fluff in there makes it extra fun
> 
> I don't usually like miscommunication as a plot device but this is a bonus chapter. I could've written another 10,000 words for this chapter, but it's longer than I intended. But it ends on a positive note. Even with the open ending, know that everything is fine they stay together, probably pay for some therapy for Binnie-baby and it's all good.
> 
> Thank you for reading - I love reading each of your comments! I treasure them greatly

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! I am new(ish) to writing Stray Kids so I hope I did them justice! I also never thought I would be writing little fics again, but here I am and thriving. I was so inspired by other works on here that I just had to get this off my chest.
> 
> I love playing with alternate universe dynamics and found family. You can, however, interpret this however you want - I prefer many things to be ambiguous, but if you are curious: I wrote it there's no romance between Felix and Chan, just two people finally finding a reason to stop wandering. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts - and if you picked up on the side plots of Minho, Jisung, Changbin as well as Hyunjin and Seungmin. I'll admit I needed Changbin as a plot device to explain how time works in a little's mind but I am kind of invested in the subplot if anyone is interested.


End file.
